


The Dark Side of the Moon

by elegia (starcrawler)



Series: It Gets Stranger [4]
Category: Doctor Sleep - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Shining - Stephen King
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrawler/pseuds/elegia
Summary: For the first time in its history, Derry Middle School develops a summer exchange program with a school in Hawkins, Indiana.Zack and Sharon Denbrough pressure their son to apply, which he does grudgingly and half-heartedly. Bill feels dismayed to discover his application was chosen of many, and his chums Beverly Marsh and Richie Tozier would have the privilege of joining in the misadventure.Bill is supposed to stay with the Wheeler family during the boring summer in the middle of nowhere, but things are thrown off the rails almost immediately when Bill and Mike Wheeler go missing.A trail of clues left behind and a whole lot of teamwork are the Losers' and Party's only hope of seeing their friends again.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Series: It Gets Stranger [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491377
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. Then Came the Last Days of May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDippeD3pj8) on Youtube in a separate tab while reading the italicized sections. It will make them a lot more enjoyable. If you are reading on mobile, please click on [this](https://open.spotify.com/track/2iSkZMib1US4efvi8mGaTB?si=Rs-Vlv2ySwGPyN8bcfFcmA).

The Losers sat in a circle, gathered around the crude firepit they had made in the Barrens. The sky was just beginning to darken in its magnificent fashion, its light coming through the overhanging branches of towering trees like long fingers, casting every Loser in a purple and orange glow. The small fire Stan Uris and his scouting skills had managed to produce bathed them all in comfortable warmth, as early summers in Maine never quite reached the horrid expectations of summers in other lands.

“‘M'lud I nuh-never wuh-wanted him to guh-het in any ch-trouble. Why'd he ever ha-have to l-leave me? Wuh-Worm, your aw-honor, let me t-t-take him h-home,’” Bill Denbrough rasped eerily, with arms outstretched dramatically, atop his log.

Eddie Kaspbrak, with his mouth agape, watched him, the handsome brown-haired boy with a speech impediment, with an unadulterated worship, feeling thrills assaulting his body as each turn in the story brought unexpected pleasures. “Stay away from that boy,” her mother had said the week before. He grinned with savage pride at the thought of him trampling that rule. Stay away from Big Bill? What insanity!

Beverly Marsh was no different, though perhaps with a different sort of attraction. The red-haired girl could only sigh dreamily as each stutter sounded to her ears like the chirps of one of Stan’s birds. She rested her hand on her cheek and smiled, filled with hope and hopelessness, longing and want.

Both their jealous lovers could do nothing but glare at their leader, best friend, and greatest obstacle, filling with a hopeless dread that came with the understanding that they would always come second to Bill Denbrough. _ Oh, but there’s a silver lining, _ Richie Tozier thought sourly. _ I bet Eddie’s not even gay! _

_ “‘Tear down the wall!’” _Bill yelled suddenly. The Losers all jumped.

“Wha-?”

_ “‘Tear down the wall!’” _

_ “‘Tear down the wall!’” _

Beverly hesitantly joined in the chant, and then Eddie, then Stan, then Ben, and Mike, and finally Richie. Soon the Barrens filled with the sound of children’s shouts.

_ “‘Tear down the wall!’” _

Bill stopped, and the chant died soon after. He leaned back on the log upon which he sat.

“We-We’re guh-gonna be guh-gone t-t-t-tomorrow,” he began.

Everyone sighed. They all knew that by “we” Bill meant himself, Beverly, and Richie.

The school had, for the first time in its existence, created an exchange program with another school in Indiana, and fifteen children selected from each school would go to the other for the summer to live with residents and learn about…well if Bill had to be frank he had no idea about what they would learn. But he knew that his parents wanted him to attend, which meant of course he would write the two-page essay on what he hoped to gain from this experience and hopefully not get chosen. Of course, as his luck would have it, his application was chosen of the many that applied, and now here he was, ready to board a plane the next day.

“Ruh-Remember, it’s juh-just a s-s-summer,” he said softly. “And if-if-if It cuh-comes buh-back, cuh-call us a-a-ASAP.”

“And what do we do while we wait?” asked Stan quietly.

“Kuh-Keep y-your eyes o-open. Uh-Adults are n-not our f-f-friend.”

* * *

Mike Wheeler was a peculiar boy, both immature and mature, facetious and serious. He had an earnest face that begged to be called strange names, and yet became dear to many hearts. 

He certainly acted pompous on occasion, acting as if he knew better than others, guided by nothing more than gut feeling and instinct. Such unorthodox ways of thought allowed him to find his best friend in an alternate dimension.

In Mike’s young mind, he fully believed that nobody understood the feeling of loss better than he, especially as he sat huddled in a small fort built of blankets in his basement. It was seven in the evening.

“Hi, um, El, it’s me. Mike. This is day 165.

“So…nothing really happened today. It was the last day of school. You would love school. It’s got a lot of really interesting things there: there’s…um…well science is pretty fun, I guess. Anyway, update on Dustin: he just got a new Supercom after he dropped his last week. It’s this new extended range edition. That means it can call from farther places.”

Mike paused, swallowing painfully. He almost dreaded asking the one favor he asked each time. He gripped his Supercom tighter in his sweaty and shaking hand and brought it closer to his mouth.

“El, if you’re there, just-just…give me a sign, okay? Please, just give me something. Over.”

He waited, his heart filled with hope despite knowing better by now. He waited with bated breath, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He waited for a minute, then two, then five, then ten, before muttering “I knew it,” and angrily shoving the antena back into its socket on the Supercom. But before he did, though, he almost thought he heard the sound of a drop of blood dripping onto the wooden floor of a cabin in the woods.

* * *

Bill glanced at the crowd that stood before the gate. The planes gleamed brightly under the noon sun outside the grimy windows. His mother (his father couldn’t make it to see him off, citing “job-related reasons”) waved with half-hearted sentiment. He sighed and waved back. She turned and walked away immediately after. He glanced at his friends. They were both waving goodbye as well, not hugging like most of the other parents. Greta Bowie’s mother was crying and hugging her daughter tightly.

_ Georgie woulda cried, too. I bet he would. And I bet if he cried Mom might’ve too. _

Things had been so cold since Georgie died. His parents, once boulders he could lean on at any time, became negative forces. He hated their silence and their frigid nature. He wanted his parents back, but at this point he had just about given up. Nothing would ever seem the same without Georgie. Just smile, nod, and say you’re alright. That’s all he had to do.

With a blank face, Bill turned towards the gate and began walking.

“Passport?” the sour-faced and balding man at the ticket counter drawled. His head displayed several straight white hairs that stood up in an impressive display of gravity. Bill smiled humorlessly.

Bill handed over his passport, folded in which was his boarding pass. The man stamped it and handed it back to him.

Without a word, Bill walked into the jetbridge with his bag.

Beverly felt rather upset that she had to sit beside Richie for the flight, and not Bill. Then she felt guilty for having those thoughts at all.

Richie, while eccentric, was also the sweetest. To her, at least. He talked continuously to her about something she did not hear for a second as they boarded the plane. Her eyes scanned the aisles for Bill’s beautiful features. He had to be here somewhere. As she reached her and Richie’s aisle, she finally located him. And she could not have been more displeased.

Beside Bill sat Rachel Harris, a plain-looking girl with brown hair and grey eyes. Of all the people who could have sat next to him, most preferably herself, it of course had to be the girl who had once admitted to Beverly she rather liked Bill, without any knowledge that they both shared that sentiment.

Beverly had loved—yes, she reckoned it was love, and not some simple crush—Bill ever since last summer. Perhaps it was his looks that drew her at first: that shiny brown hair, or those eyes that looked like a frozen hell captured in a marble, or that skinny frame that most girls scoffed at but she herself found so exquisite.

And then he stretched out his hand in invitation for her to join the club that he created and governed. How could she have said no? She had nothing else. Noone else. She sympathized with him for the loss of his brother. She admired him for his admittedly one-dimensional bravery. But most of all she craved Big Bill, the strong and reliable leader who could make their games, throw stones at bullies, and lend her his shirt. The boy who was so bent on revenge against a god that he actually got it.

She played with her fingers as she and Richie waited for the flight to begin. Their teacher had to help them put their bags up in their overhead compartment, as neither was tall enough to reach it.

“You wanna play cowboy?” Richie asked, leaning over.

“I dunno…Not here,” she said quietly.

“Sure. Let’s go back to the airport.”

She gave him an “I swear, the best part of you ran down your father’s leg, Richie Tozier,” and closed her eyes, trying to sleep. Her mind drifted to thoughts of a certain boy, and her future for them together.

* * *

Mike stood beside his mother and sister, standing in the arrivals section of the Fort Worth Airport what he figured his mother considered a welcoming stance. He rolled his eyes.

She held a sign that read “William Denbrough,” the boy for whom they had to pick up and provide hospitality for a summer. Mike sighed again. This summer was going to be a real riot.

His mother shoved his shoulder roughly as the arrivals spilled out of baggage claim. _ “Straighten up,” _she hissed. He straightened grudgingly and plastered on the best smile he could conjure at that moment, hoping to emulate the image of the picture-perfect son that his mother always hoped he could.

He scanned the crowd, looking for anybody who showed any sign of recognition. Then he mentally slapped himself. Of course almost everyone would show signs of recognition, as their names would be all over the place. _ Smooth moves, Wheeler. _

Suddenly, feeling some magnetic pull on him by some seemingly spiritual force, one that he would find the name of a week later, Mike turned his head and found himself staring at…himself. Well, that was if he wore Hawaiian shirts and glasses and had shorter and more unkempt hair. The eyes widened with shock were probably mirrored. Mike’s lips felt dry.

A boy and a girl walked with Mike’s doppelgänger. The boy had brown hair and the girl had red. They were both painfully skinny. The brown-haired boy walked up to them.

“Huh-Hi I’m buh-Bill d-Denbrough,” he stuttered shyly.

“Hello, Bill,” said Karen Wheeler kindly. “I’m Karen. This is my daughter, Nancy. And this is my son, Mike.”

Bill glanced at Mike and did a double-take. He looked back at his friend, and then at Mike, and then his friend, and back and forth. “Woah…um, nuh-nice t-to meet y-y-you.”

The girl’s name was Beverly Marsh, and Mike’s twin’s name was Richie Tozier, who introduced himself with “Richie Tozier’s my name and doing voices is my game.” Interesting. Mike had to look more into that kid.

As his mother drove the wagon back to their home at the end of the cul-de-sac, now with Bill and his luggage in tow, Mike looked out the window in thought.

That Bill kid seemed alright. He looked almost relieved that Mike had not tried to make conversation. However, that relief did not last as Nancy and Karen began bombarding him with questions. _What’s it like in Maine? What’s the best food there? Is it really that cold?_

He was a quiet kid. Mike exclusively liked quiet kids, with the exception of Dustin. _ We’re off to a good start. _

They arrived at the cul-de-sac, and Nancy muttered something about “urban sprawl,” whatever that was. They all stepped out of the car once it entered the garage and walked in.

Bill would sleep in Mike’s room. Mike had fought his mother tooth and nail for this to change, maybe have him sleep in the basement or something, and for his efforts he had another box of his toys donated. He glared at Bill sulkily as Karen gave them all the run-down.

“-and dinner is always at six o’clock. We eat in the same room we eat breakfast in. Alright, Mike? Could you entertain Bill while I start preparing dinner?” said Karen. She gave him a pointed look that screamed _ I swear to God, Mike, don’t mess this up. _

Mike nodded jerkily and muttered “C’mon,” to Bill, who followed.

He lead Bill to the basement stairs, and he looked around curiously while they descended.

On the table lay a notebook in which sat the plans for the next campaign Mike had been half-heartedly planning for nearly two months but had never managed to complete. When he passed he reached down and flipped the cover up.

Mike heard his mother’s voice in his head saying, very, very sternly, “Remember, Mike: be polite to your guests. It’ll give you an advantage,” and held out his arm in invitation to the available chair. Bill sat.

“So,” said Mike, sitting down. He felt rather awkward around this Bill Denbrough. They hardly knew each other and they had to share a room for more than two months. He had to break the ice or the first week would be miserable. “What’d’ya like to do?”

“I luh-like to juh-draw and p-p-play Cowboys and Indians,” Bill replied, just as awkwardly.

“You still play Cowboys and Indians?” Mike asked curiously.

“Yeah. What, y-you don’t?”

“No, I play D&D with my friends.”

“D&D?”

And so Mike began educating Bill in the art of Dungeons and Dragons, showing him the special die and the figurines. He gushed out rule after rule almost completely by heart, until he could tell Bill felt rather overwhelmed.

“So, d’ya wanna play with me and my friends sometime?” Mike asked sheepishly, effectively cutting the flow of information.

A pause. “S-S-Sure.”

As Mike expected, his mother and Nancy continued bombarding Bill with questions, Ted ignored him completely after the polite “I’m Ted. Please don’t swear during any of our gathering times,” and Baby Holly kept giving Mike concerned glances, having no idea who this intruder was.

Mike sat back in his chair, enjoying but at the same time taking for granted his mother’s cooking. He watched Bill squirm as he couldn’t seem to get his answers out quickly enough due to his stutter that drove Mike crazy. He decided he’d seen enough.

“Mom, that was really good. Thanks for the great dinner. May Bill and I be excused?” he asked as angelically as he could. He caught Bill giving him a grateful look out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” said Karen, surprised.

“Thanks Mom!” Mike grabbed Bill by the arm and practically ran out of the kitchen.

They stood on the lawn outside and watched the dying light, not quite sunset but just past the golden hour. The clouds scurried about in the sky, and Mike took a moment to glance at them, but nothing more than that.

“Th-Thanks,” said Bill.

“Yeah. Don’t mention it. So what’d’ya wanna do?”

Bill shrugged.

After watching the entrance of the cul-de-sac for a few minutes, they went back inside and down to the basement. Mike glanced at his watch and almost gasped.

“Hey, um, do you wanna call your friends?” he asked Bill quickly.

“S-Sure. Yeah, th-”

“Okay, who are they living with?”

Mike quickly looked through the family phonebook for the telephone numbers of Will Byers and Jennifer Hayes and told Bill where the phone was.

Once Bill left to call his friends, Richie and the girl whose name Mike couldn’t remember, he grabbed his Supercom from the table and flopped onto the couch.

“Hey, El. It’s me. Day 166. Um, some stuff happened today. The kid we were gonna host, Bill Denbrough, well he just got here today. He’s quiet and he looks pretty nice. I think I’ll like him.

“Also, he has a friend who looks a lot like me. I think I’ll see him more in the future. That means, uh, in front of now. Like, after now. Yeah. That’s what 'future' means.

“When I see Dustin and Lucas and Will tomorrow, I’m gonna bring Bill and his friends over so they can meet.

“They miss you too.”

Mike swallowed. He had already finished the recapturing of the day. Now it was time for that dreaded moment of each call.

“Can you-Can you give me a sign? Please? Just enough to let me know you’re even still alive. Over.”

He waited for a minute. Nothing. Then-

_ “Mike?” _

“El?!”

_ “Mike!” _

“Oh my God! El, you don’t know how long I-”

_ “Mike, danger!” _

“Wha-?”

Mike turned his head and saw _ something _moving towards his head. He dropped down at the last moment and scrambled towards the stairs. He turned around and saw a man with slanted eyes grinning at him.

“What the fu-!”

_ Kid, get out of here. _

“Wha-?”

The man collapsed on his knees and held his head, screaming. Mike sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door closed. He was about to twist the lock when a hand stopped his.

“Don’t,” said a boy who looked no older than Nancy that Mike had never seen before in his life.

“Get out of here. Don’t worry about your family; they’ll be fine. Just get the other kid out of here!”

A screech echoed from the basement. Mike gave the stranger a pleading look.

“You’re family will be fine. They’re after you and not them. Now go!”

Mike sprinted into the kitchen, where Bill sat in a chair, unconscious. On the ground lay a woman’s body in a pool of blood. She had a snake tattoo. Mike glanced at her unmoving figure and blanched. He forced himself and his morbid curiosity to focus on Bill.

“Oh my God, Bill!”

Mike bent down, put Bill’s arm around his shoulder, and straightened up. He essentially dragged Bill out of the house that way.

A loud bang echoed from inside the house, sounding like a gunshot. Mike dropped Bill on the grass and turned around quickly. Silence reigned.

Mike stared at the door of the house, feeling fear grip his body, making it difficult for him to breathe. He could hear his heart pounding.

But his fears were assuaged when the stranger stepped out of the door.

“You’re really slow. C’mon. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

He picked up Bill and carried him bridal-style to his car.

“Um, what’d you do with the bodies?” Mike asked suspiciously. He had to run to keep up. “And what about my family? Where are my parents?”

The stranger glanced at him. “The police will deal with the bodies. They’ll think it was a burglary and they died ‘cause your parents defended themselves, which is their right. Your mother will say that lie so your family doesn’t become the talk of the town. And you better run because there’ll be more of those guys coming after you.”

“Woah. Who are you? And why should I trust you?”

“I’m Dan Torrance, and right now I’m all you’ve got.”


	2. The Big Heat

Richie almost felt sorry for Will Byers. He seemed like a good kid, but boy he sure was quiet. He was quiet during lunch, which had been a rather uncomfortable affair. Joyce Byers sure was a kind woman, and Richie already liked her, but both her children seemed rather socially inept, with Jonathan appearing slightly emotionally-stunted.

And of course, because of Will’s reserved personality, Richie found himself talking more, because good Lord he couldn’t help it. Will was no Eddie, not even close, but he was the closest Hawkins had to offer.

He found himself tagging along to go to the bathroom, much to Will’s visible dismay. He was just too polite to ask for privacy, a fact that Richie took full advantage of.

“So what color is it?” Richie asked innocently through the bathroom door. He leaned against the hallway wall.

“What do you think?” Will’s voice sounded strained.

“I dunno. Sometimes my shit can be green. Have you ever had that?”

Just then Richie heard a quiet retching. “William? You alright, bud?”

“Yeah.” Again, his voice sounded wrong.

“I don’t think you are. Do you need me to call your mom?”

_ “No! Don’t!” _

“Woah, okay there, Buster Brown. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Will seemed rather sickly after he came out of the bathroom. Richie made sure to keep an eye on him, especially when he offered to teach Richie “the most awesome game in the universe.”

That game, of course, had to be Dungeons and Dragons.

“This is so nerdy,” Richie moaned.

“If ‘nerdy’ means ‘fun,’ then yeah, it is,” said Will crossly.

“Ughhhh…”

A loud knock came from the door. Will and Richie glanced at each other.

“Don’t they know you have a doorbell?” Richie asked nobody in particular as Will rose to answer it.

He opened the door to reveal Jim Hopper. He looked disheveled.

“Chief?”

“Will, get your mom. And you,” he pointed to Richie. “I need you to come with me.”

* * *

“So, uh, are you gonna read me my rights?” Richie asked in the back seat of Hopper’s cruiser. He sat between Will and a distressed girl with short, curly hair and big eyes who kept staring at him but not talking. Her gaze made him squirm in discomfort. Weirdo.

“Kid, shut up. This is serious stuff,” Hopper barked.

“What happened? Why do you need us?” Will asked.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

They entered a cul-de-sac, where the houses were much larger and grander than the Byers home. Richie knew for a fact that Ben would appreciate this sort of architecture.

“Hopper, what happened?” Will asked urgently.

“Just wait for everyone else to get here.”

He parked the cruiser in the driveway and the girl jumped out before anyone else could.

“El!” Hopper cursed and chased after her.

Richie glanced at Will. He seemed dreadful.

“This is Mike’s house,” said Will to nobody in particular as he stared up at the drawn Victorian curtains visible through the windows on the second floor.

“The guy who looks like me?”

Will didn’t answer and walked into the house. Richie followed nervously.

He glanced to the left and felt all the blood drain from his face. A woman with a tattoo lay in a pool of what Richie hoped (and he loathed himself for hoping so) her own blood. Her body lay in a strange and unnatural angle, as if she had broken her spine, which Richie with a keen gaze assumed she did.

He noticed something enclosed in her clenched fist, and, his curiosity overtaking his disgust and fear, he walked over to the corpse.

He squatted down beside her, taking care not to glance at her face. Focus only on her fist. His shaking hand pried open hers and removed from its grasp a single penny. Upon second glance he noticed the coin was small and copper alright, but no penny.

The tail was bare, with only a curved tusk and several lines coming towards it shown in raised relief. Flipping it over, Richie noticed the head was far busier, with words inscribed in an arc on the top in a fashion not dissimilar to a real penny. Richie could not understand the words; they certainly did not look like English. And under the title was a noose.

“Well?” Will called from the hall, sounding muffled behind the walls.

Richie jumped. “Wha-?”

“What’s so interesting?” Richie could hear Will begin walking back towards the kitchen entrance, but he quickly rushed to the hall and pocketed the coin, grabbed Will by the shoulders, and guided him out of the view of the body. He didn’t want him to have to see.

Without a real destination in mind, as he had never been in this house, Richie walked the both of them to the basement, where he saw the short-haired girl pacing, her hand stroking an imaginary beard on her chin like a detective from an old noir film, like she was a private eye of some sort.

Hopper was kneeling beside a second body, this one a man. He lay face-up. He had a bullet hole between his slanted eyes that stared sightlessly. Richie heard Will gasp from beside him.

Hopper looked up grimly. “El told me something was wrong at Mike’s house. I never thought—in this neighborhood of all places…” He trailed off.

“Where’s Mike?” Will asked. His voice shook.

Hopper shrugged helplessly. He glanced at El, who shook her head. “I can’t find him,” she said miserably.

“My friend was staying with him,” said Richie, remembering suddenly. “I need to find him. He might be with Mike. He could be hurt or-or-or kidnapped or-”

Hopper rose to his feet and gently grabbed Richie by the shoulder. “Hey, kid, calm down. Calm down. Breathe—there we go. We’re gonna find them both, alright? They probably just ran off-”

“Then how are these people dead? And how did two _ kids _get their hands on a gun?” Richie cried.

Hopper hesitated. He looked uncertain, and that look was all Richie needed. “Oh, God. I need to call Bev.”

* * *

Richie soon learned, upon Beverly’s arrival at the Wheeler residence, that she was just as bad at thinking straight under stress as he. She had blanched as well at seeing the body, and when Richie reminded her that Bill was to stay at this house, she fainted.

“Well,” said Richie with a lit Winston he had pulled from Beverly's sleeve in his mouth. He watched Hopper carry her over to the couch. “This is not ideal.”

“How can you joke about this?” Will snapped. He scrunched his nose when Richie offered him the cigarette.

“I just do. It makes it easier.”

Hopper had also called Dustin and Lucas, both of whom seemed just as anxious. Jonathan and Mrs. Byers just picked them up and they were all on their way.

Hopper paced in the hall, muttering to himself. Richie caught hints of what he said. “No, can’t be possible…and if they were kidnapped…the government…”

Richie’s young mind wondered thoughtfully, the nicotine working wonders to soothe him. He sat on the couch and stroked the fiery hair on Beverly’s unconscious head.

What had happened indeed? A kidnapping? A burglary that somehow ended with one scrawny boy or the other getting his hands on a gun and killing both intruders? But then why might they have run? Due to a lack of understanding of the law? Bill might’ve, but that Mike Wheeler seemed to be made from some smart stuff. Was it something supernatural? After It Richie could believe just about anything.

He glanced at Will beside him, who kept giving that girl, El, nervous glances, looking as if he wanted to comfort her but was too shy to.

Said girl looked as if she was on the verge of something fatal. Richie stood and walked over to where she sat on the other couch.

She glanced up as she saw something approach and her eyes widened. He sat down beside her. “Hey, um, you’re El, right?” he asked, trying to be tactful.

She nodded shyly, still giving him that strange look that mixed awe, attraction, and skepticism all in one. Richie thought he’d never met anyone so weird.

“I-I dunno how much this Mike Wheeler guy meant to you. I mean, maybe you guys were getting it on or something, but you look real bad right now. Wanna share? It’ll make you feel better.”

So much for tact. Grimacing, he offered his cigarette, which had now almost shortened to the butt. El stared at it and the smoke rising from it.

“What. Is it?” she asked haltingly. Her English seemed rather lacking. Perhaps she hailed from another country?

Richie raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Lawks-a-mussy, m’lady, it de finest elixir in all de land. ‘Tobacco,’ dey calls it. Make ya feel good,” he said in a pickaninny voice.

She stared at him in awe. “Wow. The voice…like on TV…”

Richie brightened, surprised but smiling genuinely. “Thanks. I work real hard on those, y’know. At least somebody likes them.”

She grinned as well, and then glanced down at the cigarette. “So…how do I do it?”

“Just put the yellow part in your mouth—there you go-”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Hopper angrily, appearing beside them all of a sudden. They both jumped. El gasped and inhaled the smoke and began coughing violently. “You are not teaching her how to smoke. I don’t know how you got your hands on a pack of these but you’re not teaching her bad habits.”

“A kid can’t even smoke now? What, are they gonna kill you or something?” Richie asked incredulously.

“They might,” Hopper muttered darkly. He grabbed the cigarette from the choking El’s hand, crushed it under his boot, and stormed away.

“Well, this is gonna be one helluva summer,” Richie sighed to himself, clapping El on the back.

* * *

Once the entire “Party,” as Will called it, arrived and hugged El ecstatically, they began debating possibilities for what had actually happened. Richie and Beverly, who was still really pale and had her own Winston dangling from her mouth, were both invited to join the discussion.

Dustin Henderson, the one with the strange teeth, claimed that Mike had grabbed the gun from one of the burglars through hand-to-hand combat, shot them both, and blew the smoke from the barrel in a John Wayne fashion. Suffice it to say Hopper disregarded that quite quickly.

Will wondered if it had to do with the supernatural. Richie expected at least Hopper and Mrs. Byers to scoff, and perhaps Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend, Steve (was it "Harrington?"), but none of them did. Instead, they all nodded thoughtfully, making Richie’s eyes widen. Will elbowed him and muttered, “I’ll explain it to you later.”

Nancy wondered if it was the government. Again, the adults all nodded and Hopper muttered “Maybe…” and Richie’s jaw couldn’t help but drop. Perhaps they made grown-ups differently in the Midwest.

And Hopper explained their course of action: a search party would be conducted tonight, and he would have Powell search the databases for records of these people. Gary the coroner would investigate the bodies to search for any strange clues and to take DNA samples. And the kids would have to sit tight and wait for this all to blow over.

“No way!” Richie shouted, standing up, amidst roars of agreement from every other child at the table.

“Mi—Richie,” said Nancy, also standing. She sounded so desperate. Her voice wobbled, and Richie instantly felt awful. “Please, we just need you all to be s-safe.”

Richie sat. He felt awkward around Nancy Wheeler. She was clearly in distress due to the disappearance of her brother, and he caught her staring at him multiple times. What was he to do? Say “Oh, sorry, I might look like someone you love but we have absolutely no relationship, so don’t pretend like we do” or try to comfort her in any way that would be uncomfortable to him? He already felt as if he had some sort of connection to her, whatever it was. Were they indeed in some way related?

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and Richie found himself and all the other kids pushed to the side as the adults bustled around planning and plotting. Hopper left at tea time to carry out his tasks and promised to return by the end of the search at midnight. Richie held Beverly’s hand when Karen Wheeler returned home to find it occupied by friends carrying news that her son disappeared. She began shaking in a way not too dissimilar to the way those women did in those adult videos Richie stole from the Blockbuster in Derry. And then a mask slid into place and she demanded they share everything they knew.

Mrs. Byers and Mrs. Wheeler agreed that the kids should stay at the Byers residence that night. Nancy, Steve Harrington, and Jonathan would watch over them while the two women spread the news of the search party around town.

Nancy and Steve immediately grabbed a room. Richie could hear her sobbing through the wooden door. Jonathan gave it a surly glance and went into his room, locking the door with a _ click! _and blasting the Smiths as loudly as he could.

The kids all sat on the couches in Will’s living room, looking rather defeated. “How Soon is Now?” blared through the thin walls of the house. Lucas stared at his shoes. El hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth on the couch. Dustin and Will conversed in low voices, and Beverly worried her bottom lip. Richie sighed.

He stood. They all turned to look at him. For once mindful of his volume, Richie whispered, “I wanna do something.”

“What can we do?” Lucas whispered dejectedly.

“We can find them.”

* * *

When the clock struck seven, two Losers, three fourths of the Party, and a government experiment woke at the same time and crept silently to the living room.

The early-morning light snaked lazily through the blinds, casting a faint, warm glow on everything in the room. Will emerged from Jonathan’s room.

“Okay,” said Richie quietly, seated on the middle sofa. “Who has paper?”

Silently, Will glided over to the kitchen and returned with paper and a pencil.

Richie picked up the pencil. “What leads do we have?” He looked around hopefully at the gathered children.

Dustin raised his hand. “You’re left-handed?”

Surprised, Richie glanced at the pencil, which was, indeed, in his left hand. “Uh…yeah, I guess.”

Lucas slapped Dustin on the arm.

_ “Ow! Son of a bitch!” _

_ “Our friend is missing and that’s what you ask?” _

_ “It’s interesting, okay? Jeez!” _

_ “Okay, everyone, shut the fuck up,” _Richie hissed.

Dustin, Lucas, and Will all gasped. El looked politely curious. Richie glanced at Beverly and rolled his eyes. “How’d we end up with these squares?”

She smiled wanly.

Richie slapped his forehead suddenly, causing all other members in the room to jump. “I got it!” He reached into his pocket and grabbed the coin and dropped it on the coffee table. The other kids gathered around.

_ “Ow, Lucas, elbow!” _

_ “God, Dustin. Do you ever brush your teeth?” _

_ “You know that’s a very touchy subject for me.” _

The others ignored the two and stared at the coin. “It’s…a penny,” said Will, looking like one who just had his hopes completely shattered, which he probably had.

“Look closer.”

Beverly reached for the coin and flipped it over.

_ME NE FREGO_

“‘Me…' no…I dunno,” she said, stumped.

“What language is that?” asked Will.

They all shrugged.

“Never thought I’d have to say this, but we’re gonna have to hit the library,” Richie sighed, grabbing the coin and putting it back in his pocket.

Both Lucas and Will turned to look at Dustin, who blushed.

“No, don’t tell me you didn’t-” Will began.

“I know; I’m sorry. I didn’t know the library would be this important,” Dustin sighed. “Besides, none of you guys actually have a library card anyway. So I’m actually doing more than you.”

“What are you talking about?” Beverly asked.

“Dustin never returns his books,” said Lucas, rolling his eyes. “So the librarian will probably just kick us out.”

“Her name is Marissa and she’s a total bitch.”

“Well, I dunno if she can do that, but back at home we have a library,” said Beverly, turning toward Richie with hopeful eyes. His eyes lit up when they met hers.

_ “Ben Hanscom.” _

* * *

“Deer ahead, men. Keep quiet,” Mike Hanlon muttered from the front of the line.

“Deer ahead,” Eddie whispered to Stan, who repeated it to Ben, who sweated and panted in his overly large sweater under the morning June sun.

They stalked along in a line in the tall yellow grass surrounding the Barrens, their feet padding softly as they lost themselves in their fantasies. They were hunters today, settlers trying to find some meat for their families, who waited, starving, back in their log cabins.

Mike stopped and held his arm up. Eddie fell in beside him, and Stan beside him, and Ben beside him.

“Men, weapons at the ready.”

All four boys hefted their imaginary rifles and aimed them at the grass in front of them.

“On my mark-” Suddenly Mike fell to the ground, and the other three boys jumped in panic. _ “Injuns!” _

“Bang! Bang!”

“Pew! Pew!”

“Pow…aw, what’s the point?” Eddie muttered, kicking the ground.

The other boys stopped pretending to shoot and looked subdued as well. They all knew what Eddie meant. Their games just weren’t the same without Big Bill, Miss Scarlett, and Trashmouth Mcgee. Mike wiped his brow in relief; he knew he was doing a rather awful job trying to create their games without Bill and really didn’t want to do it anymore. He was far more comfortable with playing than with making. No wonder Bill always had bags under his eyes.

“C’mon, guys. It ain’t the same without those three,” Mike agreed.

“Hey, you guys wanna come over?” Eddie asked. “I just bought the new issue of ‘Amazing Spider-Man.’ Cost me a pancreas and a kidney to get my mom to buy me something made-uh paper! You know what she's like with papercuts and all.”

The other three boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure thing, Eddie.”

* * *

“Um, what’s Haystack’s telephone number again?” Richie asked sheepishly from the telephone. The others gathered around El, who Richie now knows is short for “Eleven” (what a strange name), and who had a cloth tied around her head and was sitting in front of the television that played only static (what a strange thing to do). Will had promised to explain everything once he made the call.

“Uh…I thought you knew.” Beverly scratched her head, looking puzzled.

“I remember I had all your lines memorized before I came here,” said Richie, eyebrows furrowing. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Me too.”

They sat in frustrated silence for a minute while static roared in the background. It neared midmorning now, and both Mrs. Byers and Mrs. Wheeler had just walked through the front door minutes ago, with Karen Wheeler holding Baby Holly. Both women had heavy bags under their eyes and neither looked twice when they found the children speaking in low tones in the living room or Nancy sleeping in the same room as Steve.

“Well, when all else fails, you can count on ol’ Eddie Spaghetti,” said Richie suddenly, remembering his crush’s telephone number.

“You remember?” Beverly asked desperately.

“Yup.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for?”

* * *

“Dude, I’m telling you: Venom is gonna be the coolest bad guy,” said Mike Hanlon confidently. They had just finished reading the comic together, all four of them, in complete silence on Eddie’s bed. When they had entered the house, Sonia Kaspbrak had sniffed and looked away at the television, ignoring her guests, much to their relief. They ran up the stairs to Eddie’s room, which he knew would give her a heart attack.

“No way, he can’t beat the classics! Sinister Six? C’mon, they’re so much better!” cried Ben.

Suddenly the phone rang from downstairs. Eddie sighed and braced himself.

“EDDIE BEAR! ANSWER THE PHONE!”

“Coming, Mom…” Eddie groaned as the other boys snickered.

“Eddie Bear…”

“Dude, shut up.”

They all went down to the wall-mounted telephone, which still rang its obnoxiously loud tone, and Eddie picked it up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Kaspbrak residence. This is Eddie speaking. How may I help you?”

_ “Oh my God, Eds! You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice!” _

“Richie?” Eddie raised an eyebrow and looked at the other boys, who looked intrigued and leaned in.

“Heya, Trashmouth!” said Stan.

“Good to hear you, Richie,” said Mike.

“Richie-Richie, he lives in a ditchie,” Ben said, and they all laughed.

_ “Real funny. Haystack gets off a good one. Benny-Benny, his wage is a penny. Listen, I don’t have a lotta time. I need you to translate something for me, so grab a pencil and some paper.” _

Eddie pushed the phone into Mike’s hand and rushed back to his room.

“Richie, is there something wrong?”

_ “Wrong? Um, no. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine, hahah. Wacka-wacka-wacka. I’m just enjoying Ms. Scawlett’s company here…haha. Nothing’s wrong.” _

_ “Hey boys,” _came Beverly’s voice.

“Hey, Bev.”

“Hi Bevvie”

“Um…uh…hi, Beverly! I hope you guys are having a great time!”

Mike facepalmed and Stan cringed.

_ “Okay, we’re gonna be honest with you,” _said Beverly.

_ “We are?” _

_ “Bill’s missing, and things are lookin’ pretty fishy. We need you guys to research some stuff for us so we can find him.” _

“Bill’s missing?!” Stan cried.

“Aw jeez,” Ben muttered.

“No leads?” Mike asked urgently.

_ “Just three. We need you to write ‘em down. Just waiting for the paper.” _This was Richie again.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Eddie ran back into the hall with some paper and a pencil. He braced a sheet against the wall and said, “Okay, go ahead.”

_ “Write this down: M-E-space-N-E-space-F-R-E-G-O. Find what language this is and what it means. Then find out how it connects to these two symbols: a curved tooth, like a wolf’s, or maybe like an elephant’s tusk, with four lines moving in towards it, and a noose,” _said Beverly.

“A noose?” Stan squawked.

_ “Yes, Stanley, a noose. People use that thing to kill other people. It’s like the crucifix your parents used to kill Jesus,” _said Richie.

“Fuck you.”

_ “When you find something, call us back at-” _

* * *

“Did you find anything?” Dustin asked when El removed her blindfold. Lucas handed her a tissue to wipe her bloody nose. Will turned off the television.

She shook her head hopelessly, feeling tears of fear and frustration burn in her eyes. She rubbed them furiously. No words she knew could help others fathom the depth of worry she felt for the boy who found, fed, and clothed her. Mike Wheeler gave her a new world and a new life, and she loved him for it. That kiss (yes she knew what it was now, after seeing it so often on the TV) burned so brightly in her mind. They were just desperate lovers in a cold world that seemed bent on keeping them apart.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll find him,” said Dustin comfortingly, putting an arm around her. She sighed.

“So can we please understand what the hell is going on?” Richie and Beverly walked over to them from the phone.

Will and Lucas and Dustin all looked at each other, communicating silently. Richie rolled his eyes. Then, after having come to some sort of agreement, the boys turned to El, who looked surprised to have so much attention on her.

“Well? What’d’ya think, El? Should we tell them? Yea or nay?” asked Dustin.

Taken aback, but smiling slightly, El said quietly, “Yea.”

* * *

Ben stood there, sweating fretfully. He stared at his mother’s desk, which gleaned with a dull, worn sheen. He knew that in it there was an instrument that could change his life; it could save it or ruin it, and he had no idea what the outcome could be.

For his young and calculating mind, there existed one fatal flaw, and it was that he could not make decisions when things were grey, when there was no clear or single answer, because he was wired to say “yes” or “no,” and not “yes, but…” or anything of the sort.

His mother worked late today; she’d only come home after ten, meaning he’d already be in bed. She’d believe he’d spent another day sat in front of the television, eating garbage and watching Looney Toons or playing with his logs and erector set, and not actually taking his grandfather’s M1911 for a little spin.

He remembered her showing it to him when they had just moved in. It was the first and only time he had seen it in his life.

“This was your grampa’s,” said Arelene Hanscom, running her hands along the cold metal thoughtfully. “He used it in World War 2 to fight the Japs.”

“What’s ‘World War 2?’ And what’s a ‘Jap?’” he asked.

“Oh, you’ll find out in your own time, Ben. It’ll be a real adventure,” she said, rubbing his head and walking away, leaving him awfully dissatisfied.

His mind warred furiously, but one side soon won over.

_ C’mon, Haystack. YUH-pee! It’ll be a quick one. What’ll happen if Bowers or It shows up? Just take it. That’s a good boy. _

With a shaking hand, Ben opened the left drawer to his mother’s desk and saw it immediately, sitting atop everything else, in all its glory. He reached out slowly, hand already formed into the shape of a grip, and then he pulled back. Not today. Not tomorrow.

_ What a little _ pussy. _ Dat’s wight wabbit. Redheaded girls don’t like pussies. _

He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and rushed out of the house.

He knew he had to meet Stan and Eddie at the library; Mike had some farm work to do, and therefore could not attend their research session.

Of course, Ben would do the majority of the research; he seemed to be the only one of the seven Losers who actually enjoyed it. Eddie and Stan would just be there for safety and company.

He met Eddie and Stan right in front of the library, where they waited impatiently. He apologized and together they entered.

Eddie went to look for books on teeth and tusks. Stan looked for books about execution methods. And Ben had the pleasure of grabbing the encyclopedia and a book each on Latin, Spanish, French, Italian, and German. They gathered at a table and began to read.

Ben quickly discovered the phrase to be Italian, and meant “I don’t care.” It also had a history in, fittingly, World War Two and fascism, whatever that was, in Italy.

“Hey guys, I found something.”

Stan and Eddie both read the entry for a moment.

“Who the fuck is Mussolini?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“Not a clue.”

And so Ben returned his books on language to the shelves and went to find books on World War Two, fascism, and that bald man with the square head, Benito Mussolini.

Two hours later, and Stan still could not find any connection between the noose and kidnapping or disappearances, and Eddie had grown terribly frustrated and huffy.

Ben poured patiently through the book, entranced in this tale of fascism and its complete takeover of Italy, removing what had then been a monarchy. Ben knew a thing or two about monarchs; he’d seen Princess Diana on television enough times. The main thing he knew: the Queen was the Queen, but Margaret Thatcher held the cards.

He glanced at his Timex and gasped. It was nearly seven!

“Guys, the library is aboutta close,” he said.

Eddie sighed in irritation and worry. Stan closed his book on executions during the Enlightenment, and nodded calmly. “We’ll come here tomorrow.”


	3. Well I Wonder

Hopper trudged slowly through the woods, his hastily-assembled search party stumbling over roots and rocks, the moon being the only witness of their good deeds. Mr. Clarke walked beside him, looking solemn, and reminding Hopper joltingly of the same search conducted nearly a year before, one for Will Byers.

He knew he would likely have to visit the library again, where Marissa would ensure he lost even more standing in the town. At times he wished he still lived in New York, where life was so much more complicated and intricate, and far less intimate. But back there crime was high, he had a job to do: to find that boy who Hopper rather admired, despite his large head and short temper. _ Kinda like myself. _

“So,” he drawled, looking sideways at Mr. Clarke. “You gonna tell me he was a good student, too?”

Mr. Clarke breathed a little laugh through his nostrils. “You already know. It seems like the only kids who go missing are the kids who try at school.”

“Good grades? Good athlete? What’s he like?” said Hopper, hoping to understand what it was that drew El so, that little girl who won his heart.

“Good grades, definitely. Not a good athlete, I don’t think. I know he bikes to school but that’s just about the most I’ve seen him do. He’s got a temper on him, and takes the world a bit too seriously sometimes,” said Mr. Clarke, sighing.

“Tell me more.”

“Well, let me correct myself. He used to be a good student. One of the top three every year. Then he started goofing off: not doing his homework, not turning anything in. He got C’s on the last few tests and that’s a record. He graffitied the bathroom stall, too.”

Hopper could feel his esteem for the kid dripping off him like cheese on a nacho. “Sounds like a troubled kid to me.”

“He wasn’t always like this. I think something messed him up from last year. Remember when Will went missing? I remember Dustin called me, in the middle of the night, asking about a sensory deprivation tank. Then the next day there were bodies at school and a sensory deprivation tank in the gym. Mike had to have been involved.”

Hopper scratched his beard thoughtfully. Mr. Clarke sure was one smart guy, that was certain. “It sure does sound fishy,” he agreed.

“Miiike? Miiike! Biiill!” The call echoed throughout the woods. Hopper knew deep in his heart the search would likely be fruitless, but he had to do it anyway. More for tradition than anything. Besides, who knew if they might actually find something useful?

“When’s the autopsy coming out?” asked Mr. Clarke.

“Probably in two days. Or I guess one, now, since it’s already past midnight. We’ll get their information, alright.”

Hopper glanced at Karen Wheeler, stumbling along in dejected fashion, a large departure from her usual swagger. He turned to Mr. Clarke. “It was real good talking to you again. I just wish it wasn’t ‘cause another kid went missing.”

“Same here. I’ll call you over if I find something.”

Hopper nodded and walked toward Karen. She had her head bowed in grief, and under the moonlight Hopper could see shiny streaks running down her cheeks.

“How’re you holding up?” Inside his head, Hopper slapped himself. Pointless questions were far too common in these sorts of things.

Karen jumped. She relaxed when she saw it was Hopper, though. “I-I-”

“It’s okay, Karen. We’ll find him,” said Hopper gently. He wasn’t her biggest fan, nor a fan of her husband, but this was their child who was missing. As a father who had lost his child in a more certain way, Hopper could sympathize. Her person be damned; he was going to find her kid if it killed him, because he couldn’t keep doing his job if kids kept going missing each year.

“I just need…I need a…” she mumbled, looking terribly lost.

“Joyce,” Hopper muttered to Mrs. Byers, who just happened to be nearby. “Take Karen to your car, will you? She’s not in good shape right now.”

Joyce nodded sympathetically and led Karen by a grip on her arm, muttering “There we go, Karen. Let’s go…”

“I found something!” someone cried, and Hopper ran over as quickly as he could to where he had heard the cry.

Many people crowded around the speaker in a circle, chatting excitedly. Panting, Hopper used his size and elbows to his advantage. “‘Scuse me. Coming through.”

Rachel Calhoun stood at the center, holding out a single sheet of paper. Curious, Hopper took it.

* * *

“Alright, kid. Just leave something so your parents don’t kill themselves looking for you,” said Dan impatiently. They stood beside the car, which was parked in the middle of Mirkwood, in the midst of all the trees and leaves. The sunlight began to wane at this time, and the entire wood stood cast in a golden glow.

“But-” Mike protested, but Dan shook his head.

“We have little time. They’re coming after us_ right now_, so unless you have something to leave behind, we’re going.”

“Are we-Are we gonna come back?” Mike asked in a small voice. He looked at Bill, whose unconscious face was smashed against the car window.

Dan sighed but softened slightly. As kindly but also as honestly as he could, he said, “We will, eventually. But not now. Those people, they’re called the True Knot. They feed on our life force, on people like us, who can Shine, and they’ll stop at nothing to get you.”

“Why?” Mike cried, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. He wiped them angrily. “Why us?”

“Because they can live forever if they do that. That’s why. I don’t have the power to kill some of them yet, but I know someone who does. There’s hope; don’t worry about that. I’ll give you a pen and paper. Just let them know the essentials.”

He returned from his car with the pen and paper and handed them to Mike, who took them and began writing furiously.

_ Dear Mom and Dad, Nancy, Holly (when you’re older), Dustin, Lucas, Will, and El, _

_ I’m on the run right now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to come home. Bill's safe too. There are these people coming after me. They eat kids who Shine _

“Dan, what’s the Shine?”

“It’s basically being able to talk to other people without talking.” 

_ which is basically being able to talk without talking, and if they eat me they can live forever. They’re called the True Kno _

The sound of feet trodding on dead leaves echoed throughout the forest. Dan and Mike, who had been sitting and writing on a log, both froze.

The sound stopped as well. Mike looked at Dan, who nodded towards the car. Mike folded and dropped the paper on the ground and walked towards it, wincing as each step caused a massive _ Crunch! _that echoed. When he got to beside the car, he stopped, and he felt goosebumps erupt all over his arms as he heard more footsteps sounding before stopping as well, this time closer.

_ “Get in the car,” _Dan whispered. Mike nodded.

They both pulled open their doors as quickly as they could and rushed inside. Mike heard the sound of running before he slammed the passenger door shut.

“Go!” he screamed, and Dan, who had already jammed the keys in the ignition, pressed the gas, and they were off. They weaved through trees, waving this way and that, so that Mike felt ill.

Mike turned in his seat and saw to his astonishment an old man keeping pace right behind them. “Dan…?!”

Dan looked through the rearview window and saw him. “Flick,” he muttered.

“What?!”

“Put your seatbelt on,” Dan ordered.

Mike didn’t hesitate. After fulfilling the order, he turned to stare at Dan expectantly.

“Alright, kid. Hold on.” He braked hard. All three members in the car were yanked forward by inertia and stopped by their seatbelts. Mike gasped as he felt a burning sensation near his shoulder, while Bill flopped lifelessly back into his seat.

Not a second later, something slammed into the rear, and Mike turned around, alarmed, and saw the old man pressed flat against the now cracked glass. He had run into the car.

Quickly, Dan reversed gears and began backing up. Mike covered his ears as the old man fell under the car and Dan rolled over him. Again and again. The sounds of the engine roaring and bones crunching slipped through Mike’s hands, causing him to flinch with disgust.

“Ugh,” came a voice from behind him. He turned and saw Bill sitting up, looking groggy and scared.

“Bill! Thank God you’re okay!”

“Hang on, kids. Get ready to run,” Dan warned. Bill stared at him. He stepped out of the car despite Mike’s protests and looked behind the car. There was nothing. The body had just disappeared, as they always did.

He sat back down in the car. “Alright. He’s dead. But there’re gonna be others like him, so we gotta keep going.”

“Wuh-Where are guh-going?” Bill asked nervously.

“Wherever the road takes us.”

* * *

Richie could not explain for the life of him how he found himself walking alone during sunset and after curfew in Mirkwood.

Actually, no, he would not stoop so low as to actually call it “Mirkwood.” That sort of nerdiness had no place in his person of supreme cool, no sir-ree. He had to have a name for it, something far cooler. Perhaps “The Moon of Endor?” He shrugged. Anything not fantasy passed the test in his book.

He thought back to his last few hours in Hawkins. What a ride! He had had his best friend kidnapped, heard that his doppelgänger was basically Austin Powers, his doppelgänger’s girlfriend Captain America, and to top it all off, that there was a society called the “True Kno” that ate kids who “Shined,” because apparently Bill Denbrough and Mike Wheeler could read other people’s minds. Where the hell did Mike (he assumed it was Mike, because that sure wasn’t Bill’s handwriting) even get that strange terminology?

Then again, the mind reading thing perhaps shouldn’t have come as such a large shock as it did. Bill did fight It in the huge mental battle, whatever it was called. The Ritual of something. His mind had wandered off somewhere that day in the clubhouse. Bill lost him when he said they had to “bite down on each others’ tongues and tell riddles.” He couldn’t stop glancing at Eddie the entire time, hoping to catch some sort of reaction or reciprocation that always seemed to elude him. The ritual sure sounded kinky. Richie felt himself develop an erection as Bill spoke and couldn’t stop blushing.

So maybe Bill and not they could fight It because of his weird mind powers. Was every man always destined to be lesser than Big Bill, who seemed to get everything good there was in the world? Then he hit himself on the arm. Richie shouldn’t have let himself drown in resentment. _ He is my best friend. And his life was not easy. Georgie wasn’t easy. Man, I’m one fucked up guy, huh? _

He kicked a can lying on the forest floor viciously. It flew forward, catching the sun’s dying light and blinding Richie, who cursed. He blinked out the spots from his eyes and kept trudging forward.

Had he considered honesty a virtue, Richie would have admitted to himself that he couldn’t sit still in the Byers’ residence, especially when Will had to do the chores and Beverly was busy getting comforted by Jennifer Hayes and her mom. But because he liked to be tricky, Richie had no idea why he walked out in the warm, mosquito-filled afternoon, absent-mindetly slapping his arms every minute and thinking of his complicated love life.

Did he like girls? Sure he did. He could always rely on the stash of Playboys under his mattress to get him off. He thought that Beverly was real pretty, as pretty as they got, as far as he was concerned. He hated himself for wondering what color her underwear was under that drab, grey skirt, or what her budding breasts felt like under her faded overalls that clearly came from Secondhand Rose, Secondhand Clothes. But he really couldn’t help it, try as he might. The more he fought the urge to think about one of his best friends the more he did. So he gave up and gave in. And though Greta Bowie was a bitch for most of her life, Richie thought she sure was hot. And Betty Ripson, before she died: she looked real fine when the sun hit her face in that one angle that hid her overly-large Jew nose.

But did he like boys, too? That was a more complicated question. It was _the _question. Did he find boys attractive? Typically, no. He knew Bill was a good-looking kid, but he never tried to picture his best friend naked like he did Eddie Kaspbrak. He never thought of Stan the Man or Haystack or Homeschool as good-looking at all, though he might say Mike looked alright.

There was something about that Eddie Kaspbrak that entranced Richie Tozier, and he had no idea what it was. Was he a faggola? He couldn’t even answer that with certainty. Dee-lightful.

But he did know that he loved Eddie Kaspbrak, and he thought, to the best of his knowledge, that that love he felt was romantic. That was the best explanation he could conjure. And what a twisted little world he lived in.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “‘Thinking of a master plan. ‘Cause ain’t nothing but sweat inside my hand. So I dig…’ um… goddammit. Hit it, Eric B.”

He shook his head, hard. _ C’mon, think about how you’re gonna find Bill, not about how much you’d love to get in Eds’ pants! _

Clues. Of course, clues. What had the note said, other than the "True Kno" and the Shine? That they might not come back for a while? Nancy had run out of the dining room of the Byers residence when Hopper had read aloud the note in the Byers’ dining room, leading to Steve and Jonathan chasing after her. Richie grimaced in sympathy. He was missing his best friend, while she was missing her brother. Some things were heavier than others.

Now what did the “True Kno” and the Shine have to do with a tusk, a noose, and “Me ne frego?” Contrary to what most would think, Richie did not believe for a moment the people who ate kids who Shined were called the “True Kno.” He knew, from glancing at the panicked writing that Lucas had immediately identified, that Mike Wheeler had been interrupted. By what, he could not say. Curious and curiouser.

After staring at the words so long that they were permanently burned into his mind, Richie could deduce that they were indeed a Latin language. Which one, though, Richie had no clue. Maybe “ne” and “frego” were English words Richie had yet to learn in school. But then again they could be a completely different language.

“Wot, wot? I find these words, and all things regarding such words, so incredibly charming. Pip pip, cheerio,” he muttered to himself, trying to sound like Winston Churchill but only sounding like himself with a cold.

Languages were such a pain. Why was “Me ne frego” such a hard phrase to translate or even identify? On the coin it was almost-

The coin! They had all been so focused on “Me ne frego” that they forgot the other parts of the coin. The tusk and the noose. But was it a tusk or a fang? Perhaps just a very long tooth? And Mike Wheeler had said that those people, they ate people who Shined. The lines were like light, coming towards the tooth, which sought to eat it. It made sense. And the noose…They were called the “True Kno” and something else. Likely one or a few more letters. The “True Kno…” the True Knot? The noose was indeed a knot. Would that have been far too much of a stretch, that the name should have been found so early in the search? Richie did not know, but wanted nonetheless to jump in the air and whoop. He had a lead! He had something!

Beverly was coming over tomorrow, so he’d be able to share the news with her then. He’d find Will once he returned and walk him through the thought process later. Then he’d call Haystack and tell him to continue researching “Me ne frego,” but now also research the True Knot and the Shine. Forget the tusk and noose, he had it now.

When he finally arrived back at the Byers’ lawn, he jumped in the air and whooped. He rang the doorbell and Will ushered him in, scolding him for his irresponsibility and other things Richie found rather cute. And Will would stick his head out the door, glance once left, once right, then shut it, removing himself and Richie from the vision of a pair of eyes hidden in the bushes.


	4. Ghosts

Hopper leaned against the East wall of the morgue in the early morning and smoked a cigarette. He snorted at the absurdity of what he had just learned, and how it completely aligned with what Wheeler had written on that note.

The woman with the snake tattoo, they couldn’t find any records of her. Meanwhile the slanted-eyed man was identified using fingerprints as Barry Smith, and he had a criminal record dating back to his stint as a bartender at a speakeasy in New York City during prohibition. Hopper snorted again and took another puff. What madness. Either Gary was losing his grip, or Wheeler was right and this Barry guy somehow managed to find the Fountain of Youth and look forty at age eighty by eating kids. The “True Kno,” whatever that was.

Gary had found no artifacts on either body. Hopper ran a hand through his hair. It was a Monday morning, for heaven’s sake. Time for coffee and contemplation, not identifying bodies.

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He had to give Flo a memo. Time to find Barry Smith on the grid.

* * *

After changing into civilian clothing, calling a meeting with the Wheelers, the Byers, the Party, and Denbrough’s two friends from Derry, and informing them that he would have to travel to New York for a week to follow a lead, he, in private, put Steve Harrington in charge of their wellbeing.

“Me? I’m not even a cop,” said Steve, surprised, but rather honored.

Hopper patted him on the shoulder, smiling grimly but not answering, grabbed his hat, and left without a word. El would be left in the Byers’ care for the week, as the Wheelers already had enough stress as it stood.

Hopper contemplated the current situation while he drove in his cruiser on the highway in the dying light. It seemed not as grim as the time Will Byers went missing. Wheeler had left a note, saying he and Bill were alright…though Hopper had no clue whether it was outdated by now. He shuddered to think so. Nancy Wheeler looked like complete hell; she couldn’t afford another blow or she’d be knocked over. Karen Wheeler, meanwhile, had given up completely on the “completely put together” look and had instead chosen the “where’s my boy?” outfit that Joyce had adopted the year before. By the sheen of her hair Hopper guessed that she hadn’t showered in days. El, on the other hand, was doing much better than Hopper expected. She showed signs of wear and fear, but within her burned something far more intense, an emotion that Hopper could not identify. Anger? Hatred? He could not read the determination in that stance in her hips, or way she pursed her lips. And perhaps it was for the best, as he did not need the worry that the kids would do anything stupid while he was gone.

And those people had to be supernatural, in ways different from the Upside Down but just as outlandish. They ate kids. Okay. They ate kids who Shined to live forever. Alright. Mike Wheeler and Bill Denbrough Shined. Whatever. “Whole Lotta Love” blared through the cruiser’s speakers, and he sang along softly.

He thought back to his youth, those old days, before he had put on the pounds and become so gruff and cynical. He smiled fondly at the memory of smoking out in the back of the school with Joyce, back when Bob Newby was just another nerd and not a regular suitor. When he had a best friend and she was all he really needed. Forget the other kids; they were just a bunch of snobbish prudes who wanted something stupid and nothing more, could achieve nothing more. He looked back at his old high school photos from years ago and could barely recognize a quarter of them. He could name about a tenth.

And then he moved to New York with his wife. What a change of pace that was. And then they had a kid, and he had called Joyce ecstatically, who reacted with the same sort of enthusiasm. But that did not last. She did not last.

He would arrive at Cincinnati in another hour, he decided right then that he would stay the night at a hotel, or if it came to it, his cruiser. Then, the next morning, it was off to New York. He shuddered as each second brought him closer to his old home. And Sara.

He had left a ghost behind in New York, hadn’t he? He never wanted to return. He vowed not to, after losing so much. He was afraid, so deathly so. He could never have guessed that he would return not for his own, but for someone else’s child. What kind of a father was he?

And it was a funny feeling. Not the moral dilemma and guilt regarding his daughter, but the feeling of moving towards New York. He sat in his cruiser, not moving a muscle, while he ate away the miles. It was so fascinating, like rather than he going to New York, New York was coming for him. Like a hand, formed into a fist, flying through the air and aimed at Hopper’s visage. Had he spoken to Denbrough’s friends, he would have called New York “his own Derry.”

“I’m coming home,” he whispered. Then he laughed, a booming, but not quite put together laugh. “I’m coming home.”

His cruiser drove swiftly and softly towards Cincinnati, completely engulfed in darkness but for the two thin slices of light that cut violently through it, and completely alone on a long and winding stretch of road. If you were there, you might have caught the sound of Robert Plant and another man, singing of other things.


	5. Midnight Misadventure

Nancy felt something akin to hopelessness as she watched Hopper drive off in his cruiser. Though she knew better, him leaving to follow the lead still felt like a major cop-out, pun unintended. She shook her head. Now was not the time for puns.

She heard Steve come up behind her, while the rest of her friends (yes, she considered them her friends) watched her silently. She couldn’t blame them. Nancy Wheeler, coming apart? You better believe it, pal. She knew she had to do something soon or she’d go crazy.

She, Steve, and Jonathan had partaken in a long search near the cul-de-sac the night before, going through backyards and all, and under their eyes they boasted quite magnificent bags. She felt so grateful for them. Without them, she had no idea what she would have become.

Tonight, they would search again, this time in the woods. She knew there had to be something important there, seeing as how the note (just thinking of Mike’s cute and ugly handwriting caused her eyes to water) was found there that night.

Neither Karen nor Joyce would know of their whereabouts. Joyce always slept early because her shift started early, and Karen had the privilege of calling the Denbroughs tonight, as it was under her care that Bill went missing. Meanwhile Steve’s parents were in Milan for vacation again.

“C’mon, Nance, let’s get some rest,” said Steve softly. Nancy felt herself nod listlessly, and allowed herself to be led towards the guest bedroom.

She would sleep now, and they would continue their search tonight.

* * *

“Okay, guys, I got some good news,” said Richie excitedly. The other kids turned to look at him curiously. “Just lemme call Ben right now; I gotta get him going as soon as possible. You’ll hear me talk about that stuff.”

They all crowded around the phone as Richie punched the numbers written on the sheet of paper stuck in one of the pockets of Beverly’s overalls. He held the phone to his ear and listened to the low hum impatiently.

_ “Hello, this is Ben Han-” _

“Haystack, my man! How are you? How was the search?” Richie asked quickly.

_ “Oh, hi Richie. I’m doing pretty good. We weren’t able to find that much, unfortunately. I had Eddie look for the tooth and Stan look for the noose, and they found nothin’. I found out that ‘Me ne frego’ is Italian for ‘I don’t care,' and it was the catchphrase used by-” _

“Woah, woah, slow down! Lemme grab a pencil first!” Richie cried. Without prompting, Will disappeared and quickly returned with a pencil. Richie grabbed it and held it over the sheet of paper with Ben’s number. “Okay, can you repeat that?”

_ “It’s Italian for 'I don’t care.’ It was the catchphrase used by the National Fascist Party before and during World War 2.” _

“Wait, how d’ya spell ‘fa…shit?’” Richie asked confusedly.

_ “F-A-S-C-I-S-T. It’s a form of government, like democracy, or something. The party’s leader’s name was ‘Mussolini.’ M-U-double 's'-O-L-I-N-I. I couldn’t find how any of them had anything to do with Bill going missing, though.” _

“No, that’s alright, Haystack. Thanks for all the help. I got a few things to share with you that I just found out.

“Mike Wheeler, the kid Bill went missing with, left a note in the woods, and he basically said that he and Bill are fine, but they’re on the run. Both of them have this thing called 'the Shine,' which is basically being able to talk without talking. I dunno; he doesn’t really go into any detail, but it kinda explains how Bill was able to do the ritual a beat It. Anyway, they’re running from these assholes who eat kids who Shine, ‘cause it makes them live forever, or something. So the tooth with the light coming in, that’s them. It’s them eating the Shine.”

Richie could only hear Ben’s steady breathing on the other end, until he heard, _ “Oh my God. They’re gonna eat Bill?!” _

“Hey, hey, hey! Easy there! They’re not gonna eat Big Bill. He’s way too smart to get caught by them. But yeah, I need you to look that up, y’know the Shine and shit, _ and _something else. The note was cut off; we don’t know why. He ends with saying those cannabis, or whatever-”

_ “Cannibals.” _

“Yeah, okay, whatever. They’re called the “True” and then K-N-O. There’s nothing after. We’re wondering if the name is ‘knot,’ since the noose is a knot. I dunno, it might be a stretch, but write them both down. Look up both of ‘em.”

There was a brief pause during which Richie could hear the scratch of Ben’s fountain pen (Richie rolled his eyes. Ben was far too sophisticated for a normal _ pencil_) and then he heard, _ “Got it. So we gotta look up ‘Me ne frego,’ the Shine, and the True Knot, or the True K-N-O?” _

“That’s wight, wabbit. Call me back when you find _ anything_, you got that? I don’t care if the True Knot believes that the sky is pink or whatever. Tell us everything, capisce?”

_ “Yup, got it, Trashmouth. Night.” _

“Night, Haystack.” Richie placed the phone back on the wall, and turned to face his friends. They all seemed to have a new determination in the ways they stood. El grinned toothily, and Beverly rushed over to him and gave him a crushing hug. He hugged her back tightly. He felt her tears against his cheek.

“We’re gonna find them,” he said confidently to the group, and to Beverly. “We’re gonna find ‘em.”

* * *

Nancy slipped out of the room quietly. It was completely pitch black save for the light from the streetlamps crawling through the blinds. She met Steve and Jonathan in the living room.

“Thanks guys,” she said gratefully. Steve smiled and Jonathan nodded tersely.

Jonathan handed her a flashlight and his pocketknife. She quickly put her shoes on, and they were out the door.

The midnight air was surprisingly chilly for a summer night. Nancy found herself wishing she had brought a thicker jacket. She wrapped her arms around herself and marched ahead of the boys.

Oh Mike, why did he have to worry her so? She had spent the past few days worried out of her mind, wondering where he was, wondering time and time again if she would ever see him again.

They had just gotten back on good terms! After treating each other like trash for the past few years, they finally got along, promising no more lies, no more fights. She rubbed at her eyes angrily as the now familiar moisture returned.

And while she of course felt terribly scared for Mike, she did feel something akin to responsibility for Bill Denbrough, too. Due to her family’s lax practices, their guest was abducted and they could do nothing. Karen had called Sharon and Zack Denbrough just moments ago; they didn’t answer, much to her obvious relief. What a mess.

Nancy had no idea what to make of the kids. Those kids who she loved seemed in a strange funk. They seemed to be plotting something, rather than mourning, something Nancy had mixed feelings on. On the one hand she felt glad that they were staying positive, but on the other she felt that they appeared to be trying to solve the puzzle, something she did not endorse at all. Two missing children was more than enough.

Nancy lost track of time completely. They had walked through almost the entirety of what Nancy knew Mike and his friends called “Mirkwood.” At that point the full moon had sunk to a forty-five degree angle, which Nancy deduced to mean it was around three in the morning. She shined her flashlight behind her towards the boys’ feet as she paused, causing them to do so as well.

“Alright, guys, tonight was another failure. We’ll talk about where we’ll search tomorrow, but right now we have to sleep. Thanks for all your help.”

Steve nodded tiredly, and Jonathan didn’t respond. They happened to be rather close to the Byers’, so it was a brief walk before they could sleep.

When they neared the edge of the forest, Nancy switched off her flashlight. She had seen something. She signaled Jonathan and Steve to do the same, which they did. In the pitch black, she and the others stood stock-still, waiting for movement, or sound. Anything.

They had stood like that for a long time, completely still and freezing, when Nancy saw movement near the bushes. A single figure stood and, silhouetted against the light of the lampposts, began to creep towards the Byers’. Nancy could hear Jonathan’s breathing rate increase.

She knew their eyes had adjusted while they stood, and so she turned to face both the boys. She nodded towards Jonathan’s bat, and then Steve’s bat with nails. She pointed at Jonathan’s and gave a thumbs up. Then she pointed at Steve’s and gave a thumbs down. “We have to be quiet,” she whispered.

They crept slowly toward the house. They could see the figure standing under the doorway, looking as if they were trying to pick the lock. Nancy nodded at Jonathan, who edged forward with incredible stealth, slowly and quietly.

By the time Jonathan was right behind the intruder, they still hadn’t turned. He raised his bat and swung down. It cracked loudly against the person’s skull, and they went down like a sack of potatoes. Steve and Jonathan dragged the limp body out onto the street and under a streetlamp. Steve flipped the figure over and was met by a face with slanted eyes.

“Wait. Wasn’t he-Wasn’t he-?” Steve gasped, astonished.

“Dead?” Jonathan finished grimly. He knelt down beside the man and reached for his pocketknife in his pocket. Remembering that he’d lent it to Nancy, he held his hand out. “Knife?”

She handed it to him. “You might wanna turn around, Nancy,” said Jonathan softly.

She puffed up indignantly. “You’re just saying that because I’m a girl, isn’t it? Well I don’t need—Oh my God!”

Jonathan had shrugged in a “suit yourself” fashion and slit the man’s throat. Steve and Nancy watched, stunned, as Jonathan put the knife in the slit and did it again. And again. He sawed and he tore through the esophagus, and only stopped at the spine.

“Steve, hand me my ax. It’s in the shed in the backyard.”

Steve hurried over to the shed, and Nancy followed as well, terribly pale and queasy. He opened the door and quickly found the ax. “Woah, take a look at these,” said Steve, looking at the old rifles hanging on the wall, hoping to make Nancy forget what she had just seen.

They hurried back to Jonathan and the body. Steve handed him the ax handle-first. “What’d’ya think’s gonna happen?” He already knew what Jonathan had in mind.

“I dunno, but I just need to make sure.”

His feet planted, legs slightly apart, Jonathan brought the ax up, aimed directly for the large gash he had produced. Then he swung down with all his might.

_ Clang! _

The ax had broken through the spine completely and scraped against the asphalt. Nancy held onto Steve with all her might and buried her face in his neck, trying to forget it all.

As the three stood silhouetted under the yellow light of the single streetlamp, with one figure clinging to another as the third stared down at a lump on the ground, an unpleasant breeze wiggled through the road, and they all shivered. Jonathan and Steve watched, amazed, as the body disappeared in a mist, and all the blood that had accumulated on Jonathan’s hands through his macabre acts vanished as well.

“Nance. Nance, it’s okay. You can open your eyes. It’s gone.”

Nancy opened her eyes reluctantly and gasped when she saw just the three of them. “Wha-?”

“These aren’t ordinary people. Remember what Mike said? They eat kids so they can live forever. So I guess this is how they die,” said Jonathan thoughtfully. Suddenly, his eyes widened and they met Nancy’s.

“What is it?”

“There was another.”


	6. Carrion Birds

Hopper discovered, much to his displeasure, that New York City had become a bit of a cesspool of crime during his absence. He shook his head when he saw people selling drugs on the streets. Drugs on the streets! What madness! He wanted to arrest them all right then and there. But he had to keep a low profile. He huffed angrily.

He drove his cruiser over to what he remembered as the NYPD headquarters, which were unfortunately located in Lower Manhattan. He drove through the clogged, dingy streets and sighed sadly. What the hell happened to this place? The air was choked with smog, despite New York not even being an industrial city. The buildings looked like they were in crumbling condition. There were drugs on the streets. When did that gleaming metropolis become such an awful place to live? He felt glad that he left while he did; this looked like a total nightmare.

Hopper found, much to his dismay, that he could not quite pinpoint the exact location of the headquarters. He parked his cruiser near two giant towers that he remembered were new when he had left the city and, after memorizing the street on which he had parked, attempted to finish the journey on foot.

When he considered himself completely lost, he tapped the shoulder of a tall, golden-haired man wearing a suit and tie who was walking by.

“Hey, excuse me. Where’s the NYPD headquarters?”

“Down the block and to the left.”

“Thanks.”

When Hopper entered the building, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia. No matter what he felt about the city, he had still lived there for so much of his life. He had a daughter here. He used to have a wife here. He couldn’t just forget his demons and ghosts that easily.

He leaned on the counter, behind which a policewoman stood, waiting for his question or report or whatever it was. He pulled out his identification and handed it to her. “I’m Jim Hopper, a police officer from Hawkins, Indiana. I’m investigating a case about some missing kids, and a lead brought me here. I’d like to use some of your files for my search.”

She looked over his card while he spoke. She then nodded and walked over to the door by the front desk to let him in. She led him through a long corridor surrounded on both sides by doors to rooms and offices, to the back, where Hopper knew the files sat, waiting for him. It may have taken him many years to return to this place, but it was always written in stone, that he would come back for a reason unbeknownst to him less than a week ago.

She opened the door to the large room filled with rows upon rows of files, all under dim fluorescent lights which cast the entire room with a grey, unhealthy glow, and swept her arms in a grand motion, as if to say, “Here it is.”

Hopper stared at her as she started to leave. “You don’t say much, do you?”

She ignored him and continued walking. Hopper shrugged and turned to the files. Okay, time to find Barry Smith.

* * *

Nancy had absolutely no idea if this would work at all.

She, Steve, and Jonathan had come up with a plan to trap the girl with the snake tattoo. The crazy part was that it was not crazy at all. Few moving parts, few variables. Just some good old _ whack! _and maybe some rope and voilà, time to question. It was so not crazy, so not extravagant, and much too simple to actually work, or so Nancy thought.

She knew something in the house drew that slanted-eyed man. Whether one or some of the kids had the Shine, she did not know. What she did know was that of all the houses he could have chosen, he had chosen Jonathan’s, meaning he wanted something there. Or she was just going crazy and making connections where there were none to be had.

She forced all the kids to stay inside the house at all times, much to their displeasure. Richie had angrily called her a “used tampa,” which she assumed was not what he had in mind. She smirked, thinking of how they had looked when she had sat down on the couch, all crowded around the D&D board and giving her dirty looks. They were _ not _going to get into any danger for her brother’s sake. She already had the weight of failing to ensure Bill Denbrough’s safety upon her shoulders; she needed no more.

Jonathan sat in the shed, which had its door open, so he could keep an eye on the back of the house. He had the rope and the M1 Garand hanging on the wall of said shed. Steve sat up in a tree near the front, armed with the spiked bat. Both had binoculars. Nancy had the pistol. She stayed inside the house. They would communicate using Supercoms that they had snagged from their brothers, and in Steve’s case, from Dustin.

The kids knew something was up. From the cunning glint that came from behind Richie’s glasses to the suspicious gaze of Dustin’s eyes, she could tell they were far from stupid. Too far from stupid for her tastes, especially in regards to the plan.

She refused to turn on the TV to entertain herself. She knew Johnny Carson was on, and she was oh so tempted, but goddammit if she turned the TV on the plan would fail. There was no logic as to why, but it just would. Besides, why should she get to watch TV when Jonathan and Steve had to sit, freezing and on the alert, for hours outside? She glanced at her watch. It read twelve nineteen.

“Alright, guys, time for bed,” she said to the kids, who stared at her.

“C’mon Nancy,” said Dustin charmingly. “This was Mike’s never-before-seen campaign. We’re playing it while he's not here so we don't miss him so much.”

_ Damn, he’s good. _Nancy blinked rather rapidly, a lump in her throat, and Dustin and Will quickly rushed over to hug her.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Nancy. He’s gonna be fine. Nobody’s got anything on Mike Wheeler,” said Dustin soothingly while rubbing her arm. She nodded jerkily and sniffed.

“God, I’m s-sorry guys. It’s just-” she began. Now all the kids crowded around her in a large hug, sad smiles adorning their faces, and she had never felt so loved.

“Just stay strong, keed,” said Richie bracingly. “We’re gonna find them.”

“Okay, I just-I need you to turn off the lights.” She had no idea what she was doing. Why did she think it was a good idea to include these kids in the equation? She had some intuition, that's what.

“Why?” Beverly asked curiously. She turned off the lights before Nancy could answer.

"Well, I-" Nancy stopped and they all turned as the phone rang.

* * *

Much to Hopper’s frustration, there was very little on Barry Smith after the twenties. He did get arrested several times for distributing moonshine and such, but afterward he just disappeared. He was caught with a prostitute in the late thirties, and the mugshot taken of him, with those slanted eyes, definitely fit the bill, but that was that. There was nothing more.

So he went over to the “s” category, two rows over, to look for files with “shine,” or anything related. And his jaw dropped when he pulled out a single file from that category and found himself face-to-face with a picture of a smiling Mike Wheeler. He felt his breathing increase. He pulled out another one. Abigail Freemantle. He tossed it aside, unimportant. He pulled out another, and started unpleasantly. He did not recognize the face, but he did the name, “William Denbrough.” He pulled out another. His jaw dropped. 011. Her unsmiling face and shaved head jumped out at him. He pulled out another. Richard Tozier. Another. Richard Hallorann, deceased. Another. Daniel Torrance. Another. Nancy Wheeler. He pulled out more and more files and found more and more names, though none of them popped out the way the first few did.

“So that’s how far along you all got. Good to know,” said a low voice. Hopper heard the unmistakable sound of a gun loading, and he lay the file on the floor, stood slowly, and held both his hands up. He turned and saw the policewoman from earlier standing beside a long-haired man aiming at him a pistol with both hands.

“That was a good idea, Sarey, putting the files there and all. Come on,” the man said to Hopper, nodding his head towards the door. “I want to show you something.” Hopper walked past him and felt the barrel settle against his back. “Move.”

“Lup, dat’s light,” said the woman. _ So that’s why she doesn’t talk. I don’t blame her. _

The hall had a bit of an “L” shape to it, and once they turned right, Hopper found himself remembering all of it. And then-

“What the hell is that smell?” Hopper gagged. It smelled of Vietnam: dirt, deet, sweat, and flesh. The smell of insects making their homes in departed people. The smell of carnage and ruin and war.

“You’ll see.” Hopper could hear the smile in the man’s voice.

They walked to the end of the hall, the very end. There was a door, and behind it Hopper heard a dull buzzing. The odor of rotting flesh strengthened and completely filled his nostrils, but he could not cover them for fear of getting shot.

“Open it.” The barrel pushed into his back. He grasped the brass doorknob, twisted, and pulled, and was met by many things that he registered all at once.

The dimly-lit room behind the door was bare but for a pile of bodies, all clad in police attire, save for one body, which Hopper deduced, by its curves, was female. That explained where the silent girl got her outfit. A hoard of flies buzzed around them, feeding and laying eggs and doing what flies did. And then Hopper registered that he was about to join them.

He turned slowly, hoping to get in a favorable position. He forced his stoic face into one of shock and sadness. “Oh my God.”

The man grinned widely, displaying yellow teeth. “Welcome to the feast, my friend. I heard they’re a bit short on-”

_ Bang! _

With speed that shocked even him, Hopper grabbed the wrist holding the gun and pointed it towards the woman. The man fired, panicking, and the bullet hit the woman in the abdomen. She gasped softly in pain. Hopper’s left arm joined his right in crushing the man’s wrist, which was lucky, as he dropped the gun a moment later. Hopper dropped down to pick it up, but a foot kicked it to the end of the hall. Hopper glanced up and saw the woman, looking livid. Oh right; they were immortal.

She kicked Hopper in the face. He grunted in pain, falling back on his butt. He opened his eyes just in time to see the man’s foot coming down toward him, and he rolled out of the way at the last moment. He got up as quickly as he could, while the man tried to shake out the jolt that had gone through his leg due to overextension, and the woman struggled to walk due to her bleeding abdomen. He rushed past them both, pressing himself against the wall, and picked up the gun at the end of the hall.

He shot both of them in the head, and they both collapsed. Hopper tossed the gun into the woman’s hand and hoped the cops would not find his fingerprints. Then he snorted, the adrenaline making it easy for him to find humor in anything. The cops were all dead. Or at least the late shift ones. Maybe that was why the streets looked so terrible.

He hurried to the front desk. He grabbed the phone and dialed Joyce’s phone number (no, him memorizing it meant absolutely nothing; just security, nothing more) and tapped his foot impatiently while he waited.

_ “Hello, this is-” _

“Joyce, this is Hopper. I’m in New York. I got ambushed. They were expecting me. I read some police files on the Shine and the kids aren’t safe. The kids aren’t safe, Joyce, even with Mike and Bill gone. Nancy, Richie, and Eleven all have the Shine, and maybe even more of them do. I don’t know. I don’t know what those freaks are gonna do, but they might try to eat them or something if they give up on Bill and Mike. Keep and eye out, alright?”

_ “Wait, what?!” _How did he not notice it wasn’t Joyce who had picked up? Nancy Wheeler sure sounded shocked on the other line.

“Oh, _God_. You’re not safe, Wheeler. They’re gonna come after you. Arm yourselves, be careful, and trust nobody. I’m coming back as soon as possible.” He hung up before she could even respond. He hurried out of the NYPD headquarters and into the late night air, over to where he remembered he parked his cruiser by the Twin Towers. He never looked behind him, which was a shame, for if he had, he would have seen Silent Sarey standing by the station, watching him leave.

* * *

Nancy hung up the phone, her face expressing an odd mixture of shock and fear. Richie waited for her words impatiently. She faced the kids, who stood waiting in the dark.

“Hopper just called,” she said calmly.

“Hopper?” El asked excitedly. “What did he say?”

“Good news: he’s on his way home. Bad news: he found out that El, Richie, and I all have the Shine, and we are targets for the…”

“The True Knot,” said Richie solemnly. The Shine? Him? What a chuckalicious idea. And it was so ridiculous it just might be true.

“Wait, how do you have the Shine? You never even knew you did, did you? Did Bill?” Beverly asked Richie, looking terribly surprised. He shook his head no.

“Okay, guys, this stuff doesn’t matter,” said Nancy. “What matters right now is the plan that Jonathan, Steve, and I have come up with. Crowd around…” She told them everything: their midnight journey, the resurrection, and the final death. She told them about her plan, and how Steve and Jonathan were sitting outside, waiting for any sign of the woman with the tattoo.

Richie pursed his lips when he realized none of this new information helped him get any closer to solving the whole “Me ne frego” dilema, though he had a sort of intuition that he would know soon enough.

So they all sat together in the dark, with Dustin’s singing being their only entertainment. Steve and Jonathan gave frequent updates, not daring to speak above a low mumble. At around two in the morning, when El and Will had fallen asleep, and Dustin looked ready to follow them off the edge, the Supercom hissed, and Jonathan’s voice slid through.

_ “She’s here.” _

Nancy stood up silently and removed the pistol from its holster at her hip. Richie’s eyes bugged out when they saw it. He nudged Beverly and pointed at the gun. “Holy shit.”

Richie, Beverly, and Lucas all followed Nancy to the kitchen. Taking care to be quiet, they stood near the refrigerator while Nancy inched ever closer to the back door. She could now hear something: clicking, tinkling, the sound of something twisting in the lock.

Richie watched in awe as Nancy held the gun up to her chest and fired through the door. They all fell to the floor when they heard a second bang, this one not from Nancy. The sound of rushing feet came from the left side, and he heard Steve Harrington cry, “Take this, bitch!” through the wall. 

A loud _ whack! _and a cry of pain later, they heard Jonathan say, “Alright, come on out, guys. This is kinda graphic, so don’t watch if you don’t think you can take it.”

Dustin, Will, and El suddenly appeared in the kitchen, looking scared. They all rushed out the door when Nancy opened it. She pointed her flashlight at the ground.

The woman lay on the wet grass, her face a bloody mess. Steve’s nails had definitely done a number on her. Richie saw the two bullet holes in her abdomen: one from Jonathan, one from Nancy.

Nancy knelt beside the woman. “Where is my brother?” she asked coldly.

The woman glanced at her curiously. “Well he isn’t here, that’s for sure. I dunno why you surround yourself with these _ men_, seeing how strong and independent you are-”

Nancy slapped her in the face, hard. Lucas whistled, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Dustin.

“I don’t have time for your feminist bullshit. I want you to answer my fucking question.”

The woman grinned. “Oh, I like you. He’s in Oregon right now, heading for California, if my friend is correct. She’s keeping real tabs on him. Ol’ Danny doesn’t even have a clue. If all goes according to plan, she should be able to intercept him and his tasty friend in Northern California, maybe around Chico. She’s real hungry, see. They’re gonna be a real nice trea-”

Nancy slapped her again. Richie couldn’t help himself; he laughed. He wondered briefly who “Ol’ Danny” was, but quickly discarded the question for a more pressing one. He leaned in to squat beside Nancy. “Okay, answer this: what does ‘Me ne frego’ mean?”

The woman regarded Richie with the look one would give food that had perished. “Like I would ever give a _ boy _the answer to that question.”

Nancy pulled out her pistol and shot the woman’s right thigh, causing her to scream. “Answer his question. Now.”

“Okay, okay. It means ‘I don’t care.’ It’s how you Shine. You stop caring. You let go. That’s how you Shine. Please. I’m so hungry. I need to eat something. Please…”

"Any more questions?" When nobody replied, Nancy nodded subtly to Steve and pulled Richie back. Steve brought the bat down, cracking the woman’s skull and knocking her unconscious. Jonathan walked over to the tool shed and returned with the ax. “Look away kiddos,” he murmured.

Most of them looked away. Nancy tried to watch, but found herself unable to after two swings. Steve watched so he wouldn’t feel less “man” than Jonathan. El watched because she ate that sort of thing for breakfast. And Richie found himself entranced by the swing of the ax, the gleam of the metal. Like a pendulum, Jonathan brought the ax up and down, back and forth. Up and down. Back and forth. Flesh and sinew, bone and vein. He did not feel disgusted or sentimental. He just felt numb.

It still surprised him that he had the Shine. But if he did indeed have it, he knew he had to use it. Come tomorrow, he would practice. Let go. I don’t care. Me ne frego. He would try to Shine Nancy, and then El. Or perhaps the other way around. It wouldn’t matter. Then he would attempt to make a call to his friend out in Oregon.

He glanced up at the moon that witnessed the entire spectacle, that appalled orb of pale light. He whistled softly the melody of “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” and watched as Jonathan removed savagely the head of a goddess.


	7. Going to California

Bill looked out the window of Dan Torrance’s car dejectedly. They were in the Idaho countryside and going to head further West. Dan said something about California. He had no idea if they would ever stop for good.

Having spent the past three nights in dingy hotels for no more than seven hours at a time, and eating a diet consisting of McDonald’s and potato chips, Bill really began to feel a level of exhaustion he had never expected to ever know. Mike looked no better, though he seemed blessed to not have to suffer the massive headaches Bill did. Did that girl hit him on the head too hard or what?

He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and began to think. This summer had turned out to be a total nightmare. First, he had to leave his home to go out to the middle of nowhere for an educational summer, which to him sounded like the worst thing in the world. Then, he got knocked out and taken aboard a massive road trip without his consent. He missed out big time on his plans to get Beverly to like him this summer, which was probably the biggest bummer, though he supposed he did miss Richie a lot as well. It’s just, well, it was different. And now there were cannibals on his tail, ensuring that they would never be able to feel comfort for a real long time.

Dan had been teaching the two of them how to use the Shine while on the road. You just had to let go. Not care. Bill found it quite easy and felt surprised that he hadn’t been able to pick up on it before, while Mike still had some trouble with sending, but had none with receiving. This was perhaps the only worthwhile thing he had done this summer.

Bill was grateful for Dan Torrance; for his protection and knowledge of all this mumbo jumbo. He still felt wary around the guy, but he did feel a sort of kinship towards him: that gruff, dingy-looking teen.

And Bill found an odd friend in Mike Wheeler, the serious, pompous, and anxious boy. He still had trouble believing that this kid had a toy Tyrannosaurus Rex named “Roary.” He definitely was a nerd, seeing as he was a science whiz and knew two computer languages, and was proud of it, but he definitely was no Ben Hanscom. Too skinny, and far too pessimistic.

On the second night, in their shared hotel room, Mike confided in him what had occurred during the autumn last. His friend had gone missing, he found a government experiment, and together they found a second, parallel dimension. Bill knew, had he never faced It during the summer of 87, he would have just laughed and said, “Nuh-Nice s-s-story.”

But he knew better. He definitely knew better, since it cost him Georgie to know better. He smiled gently when Mike finished his story and looked so scared, so afraid that Bill would laugh or make fun of him. Bill felt honored that he should be privy to this side of Mike Wheeler, even if it had been loneliness that compelled him to share.

And in return, Bill shared his story of his brother’s death, his friends, and It. His memory was surprisingly foggy, but he still got it. Mike nodded along grimly at all times, never seeming fazed by the absurdity or the strangeness. He simply accepted the tale, just as Bill had with his.

Bill glanced at Mike, who slept beside him in the back. He looked so remarkably like Richie, it almost hurt to look at him, as doing so reminded Bill of how much he missed his best friend. The only difference that Bill could find, other than the hair length, the glasses, and the personality, were the eyes; Mike’s were brown, while Richie’s were grey. They may as well have been siblings. Bill smiled softly. He could imagine Mike hating Richie if he had to interact with him. They reminded him of water and oil.

Bill closed his eyes, letting the soothing contralto of Karen Carpenter wash over him, a quiet lullaby rocking him to sleep.

* * *

Bill could not deny that the scenery on the West Coast was incredible, however he hated the circumstance in which he found himself there. He had heard from Stan, in one of his many talks on birds, that this sort of climate, with the towering redwoods and Douglas firs, was known as “Cascadia.” It was nothing short of breathtaking, very different from what Bill had grown up seeing in Maine.

Dan informed them that they were right on the border between Oregon and California, only a day after exiting Idaho, and that they would stop for lunch at Redding, still a while away. “You gotta try an In-N-Out,” he said enthusiastically. “They only make ‘em in California, and you guys’ve had a pretty rough past few days.”

And so Bill sat in the car, looking very much forward to the burger he would soon devour, while he, Mike, and Dan played a game to see how many songs they could identify on the radio. The only station they currently had a good signal for was one for Latin music, so none of them knew any of them. Bill learned that Dan liked John Denver, Mike liked Phil Collins, a slight departure from Richie’s favorite, the Smiths, and Bill revealed his love for Pink Floyd.

They passed by sprawling mountains characteristic of the tectonically active region, and the coast that they had just seen moments before, which for Mike had been his first time seeing the ocean, gave way to thicker and denser forests. Their car was pushed in on both sides by walls of green, red, and brown, which Dan said was a sign that they were close. “They don’t call it ‘Redding’ for nothing,” he said.

By the time they finally stopped at the In-N-Out, with its red, white, and yellow aesthetic, at noon, Bill’s stomach growled nearly every five minutes. Dan shrugged apologetically each time it did, and Bill would ask, “How m-much luh-longer?”

Bill and Mike got out, looking outlandish with their “I Love Minneapolis” t-shirts (Bill’s button-down and Mike’s sweater were getting too dirty, so Dan took them shopping in Minneapolis) and their exhausted and unhealthy faces. They tried to stay low-key, but their efforts did not spare them from curious glances; Bill found himself under the gaze of a beautiful woman sitting at one of the red picnic tables surrounding the entrance, wearing a quaint hat, the sort he imagined those Victorians did a century ago. He smiled shyly, and she smiled back warmly.

The three stood in line, staring at the large, red menu. “I-I’ll have a ch-cheesbuh-burger,” said Bill softly. Dan nodded and shook Mike’s shoulder, who said he wanted a Double-Double.

The line was long, and the atmosphere lively. Bill found himself staring at the red-haired girl standing with who were presumably her parents in front of him, and who looked an awful lot like Beverly, though a lot older. And just as he was about to turn away, she turned to look at him.

“Were you staring at me? Is there something wrong with my hair?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nuh-No I wuh-wasn’t,” Bill stuttered.

“Mhmm. Liars always stumble over their words, y’know. Audra Phillips is the name.” She stuck out her hand to shake. Bill took it, surprised.

“Buh-Bill D-Denbrough.”

“Wow, what a name! ‘Denbrough’ sounds pretty cool. It’s like one of those old English names. You know they have a secret menu here? I dunno what the items are but I’m gonna find out. Wish me luck, and I’m sorry if my order takes a hell of a long time ‘cause of it.” Her words were like bullets with the speed with which they came; Bill found himself feeling quite envious.

“Next!”

“That’s my cue. It was nice to meet you, Bill Denbrough.” She winked and skipped over to the register with her parents.

Bill turned and found both Mike and Dan staring at him. Mike looked awestruck, while Dan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Uh-Unbelievable.”

Audra Phillips certainly didn’t kid about how long she was going to take. Bill soon needed to use the restroom. He told Dan, who nodded, still glaring at Audra’s back for taking so long.

He walked over to the restroom, which was in a little hallway next to the line and between the register and the entrance. He went in, relieved himself, and washed his hands.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and jumped when he saw the woman with the hat who had been sitting outside now standing behind him. He suddenly panicked, wondering if he was in the wrong restroom. But then why were there urinals? But what if women used urinals even if they didn’t have dicks, and Bill just assumed?

“Uh, s-s-sorry Miss. Ruh-Wrong r-restroom,” he said nervously. Something about her grin made him uneasy.

“Oh, do not fret, my dearest. You are not in the wrong laboratory. In fact you are in the correct place. The most correct. I am so glad your friend did not recognize me,” she said, her lilting voice containing the semblance of an Irish brogue.

“Um…Okay. I guh-gotta go-” said Bill quickly, walking towards the door, but the woman jumped with inhuman speed and strength from where she stood to before the door. Bill felt his heartbeat pick up. Did she have anything to so with the True Knot? Or was she a rapist? Whichever it was, Bill had no desire to find out. Praying for God to bless him, he dove straight through the woman’s parted legs, which came together with a resounding _ Smack! _not a second later. Bill quickly got up and rushed through the restroom door.

He was surprised to see the In-N-Out completely abandoned; both Mike and Dan were gone. So was Audra. The sterile aesthetic that had dominated the fast food joint had become overrun with strange vines, and everything was cast in a blue-green glow. It was dark, and everything had a shiny sheen to it, which he assumed would feel slimy if he touched it. He rushed out the front doorway (both doors disappeared from their hinges) and jumped when he realized that outside, the sky was nearly black. The surrounding buildings and the picnic tables were also covered with those vines. Strange, white particles drifted through the air, making it rather difficult for him to breathe. Bill felt his head pound again.

He turned to see the woman walking up to him slowly. “My dear, this does not have to be so difficult. Just let it happen. Allow perfection.” Bill turned and tried to run towards the empty parking lot, but found the woman standing right in front of him, having suddenly traveled so far and so quickly without his knowledge. She grabbed Bill’s right arm and twisted.

_ Snap. _

Bill screamed in pain as she broke his arm cleanly at the elbow. He collapsed to his knees, and she dropped down with him. She twisted and pulled, and Bill suddenly felt a lot lighter.

And suddenly, he felt the ground against his back; and behind his clenched eyelids, the darkness became light again, and he heard screams. Were they his screams, or other people’s? He had no clue. He forced his eyes open and saw the woman, now with a long and yellow tooth sticking out of her mouth. She held his detached right arm in her hands. The sky was blue again. He could hear Dan yelling from afar, sounding like he was at the other end of a tunnel. And did he hear Mike crying? Bill’s vision swam from the pain.

“So much Steam,” she whispered sensually into his ear, and she sank her long tooth into his temple.

He could hear birds. Stan’s birds, most likely. He heard Beverly shriek with laughter, from what he did not know. He heard Richie and Eddie bickering, and the others snorting at their antics. The sounds of the Barrens rushed through his ears, and he felt at peace for the first time in ages. He wondered what his mother would make for supper, and what they should play next, and what he ought to draw tonight for Georgie. He smiled gracefully. “Hi-yo, Silver.”

And Bill Denbrough was no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry


	8. Worm, Your Honor

When Hopper finally saw the familiar “Welcome to Hawkins” sign at noon, he deflated completely and let go of all the stress he had held onto for the entire journey from Hawkins to New York and back. This was his real home: this small hick town, not the once-gleaming metropolis that served as the world’s financial capital. He had family here; not legitimate, but family all the same.

He thought about his brief jaunt (he snorted; “jaunt”) and what it had accomplished. The two freaks were dead, as far as he was concerned, and he now knew that Richie, Nancy, and El had the Shine. Well that made things so much more complicated. Now that he really thought about it, he really did not gain much there at all.

He stopped in front of the familiar Byers home and knocked on the door, hard. He waited a long while, mind wandering to all sorts of places. Why were they taking so long? Did they all move somewhere else? He had just called Nancy a few nights ago. Did they get ambushed, and he was too late?

But these fears were all assuaged when the door opened to reveal Nancy holding a Supercom to her mouth, muttering, “Copy that.” Hopper raised an eyebrow, and Nancy ushered him in impatiently.

“What, no ‘welcome home?’ No ‘what did you learn?’” Hopper asked curiously as he followed her into the living room, where the children lay sprawled around a single notebook. El squeaked when she saw him and rushed over to give him a hug. He felt himself melt.

“Welcome home, Chief. What did you learn?” Richie asked innocently. He held a pencil in his hand and looked poised to write down everything Hopper said in the notebook.

“Well, kid, I learned that you have the Shine, and you’re in danger ‘cause of it,” said Hopper gruffly.

“We’re way ahead of you,” said Dustin. Hopper felt his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Dustin grabbed the notebook from Richie and held it out him from where he lay on the floor, and Hopper bent down to take it. He read the notes, written in a swirly, slanting font.

_ What do we know? _

_ -Richie, Nancy, and El have the Shine _

_ -They don’t die until you kill them dead _

_ -Their bodies disappear when they die _

_ -To Shine, you have to not care; practicing _

_ -Mike and Bill are/were in Oregon, heading to California _

_ -Both the chink and the lesbian are dead _

Hopper read these notes and felt grudgingly impressed. They managed to do way more detective work than he did, and while he did not endorse that sort of behavior—snooping around behind his back and clearly without his approval—now that he had these extra clues to work with, and the children turned out completely unharmed, he would and could not complain.

He read the list again. They disappeared when they died, and you needed to kill them dead, which he guessed meant “kill them good.” Well either the silent girl and the long-haired man didn’t Shine, or he really messed up. He just had to keep his eyes open even more so.

He handed back the notebook with a “not bad” to an eager Dustin, who looked so pleased. He had to get Joyce and the teens. This was the endgame.

* * *

Richie knew how to Shine. He knew for a fact that he had the ability to now. He had sent a “what’s up, hot stuff?” in his mind to Nancy that morning, who gagged. He had it down, and while the girls did not yet, they were getting there. But when he tried getting something across to Bill, he found himself blocked, and not because he couldn’t find him, but because he just disappeared, like a telephone line that had gotten disconnected. But then again, perhaps it had to do with El not being able to see him or Mike either. Whatever it was, he got so frustrated each time he couldn’t Shine for hours on end, because he couldn’t truthfully say “me ne frego.”

They now prepared for the worst: the True Knot coming after him, El, and Nancy. Hopper handed Nancy a German Luger from the office, saying that it was more powerful than any of the Byers’ pistols, despite being so old. Steve preferred the bat over the gat, while Jonathan had the ax with him at all times now.

They ate dinner quietly, in case someone tried to come in. Richie sat beside Will and found himself remembering their first day together, when they had that uncomfortable lunch, and felt rather fond. Will soon left for the bathroom, as he did at least thrice a day now, and Richie was left to his own devices.

By the time the sun finished setting, Richie lay on the couch, Hopper’s plan rehearsed in his mind. The teens and adults would rotate watch. The kids would sleep in the living room with blankets brought in from the bedrooms. If someone tried to break in, they would follow Mrs. Byers to her wagon, and they would make a break for it. Get out of the town. Go somewhere. Maybe go to California and find Big Bill. 

Richie rolled over onto his side and watched the steady rise and fall of Beverly’s chest (she was a back sleeper). He envied her tiredness at times; he felt so alert and ready for action he wanted to walk right up to Hopper and say, “I enlist.”

But he already knew the outcome of such a scenario: a snort and a “Go to sleep, kid.” He rolled over onto his other side and decided to think. Thinking was always the best way to exhaust oneself, he decided right then and there.

He thought about his friends. Big Bill, Ms. Scarlett, Eds, Haystack, Stan the Man, and Homeschool. What a bunch of Losers they once were, and still were. Bill and his handicapping stutter, Beverly with her bruises and social standing, Eddie with…what was it that he had? He had diabetes, right? And what was Stan? Was he Jewish? Richie could barely remember.

He rolled over again and tapped Beverly on her shoulder._ “Psst...Bev. Hey, Bev. Wake up.” _

She groaned and rolled over to face him, the sleep not completely leaving her eyes. She looked irritated. _ “What?” _

Richie knew he sounded stupid, but he had to ask. _ “What was Eds’ sickness? What did he have?” _

Beverly glared at him. _ “We can talk about this tomorrow, Richie. Righ-” _

_ “Think about it for a moment. What sickness did Eddie have? Why can’t I remember?” _Richie felt skittish and as if he had an itch deep beneath the skin that he wanted to scratch but couldn’t. Beverly’s surprised face after thinking was all he needed to see.

Richie whispered a _ “Good night, Bev,” _before rolling over onto his other side, thinking hard. What had happened? Why did he forget? Why did they both forget? First the numbers, then the people. He forgot Eddie’s sickness. Asthma, wasn’t it? That sounded right. Asthma. Right, asthma. He lay there for nearly an hour, just thinking, and by the sound of Beverly’s breaths, or the lack thereof, he knew he had troubled her too. He felt curious when Will stumbled over to the bathroom, but did not go to check on him.

Once he decided his time could be spent on more worthwhile things than lying on the couch and not sleeping, Richie got up slowly, making sure to remain silent and stealthy, and crept over to the kitchen, the only lit room in the house, where he knew Hopper was. Will still hadn’t returned.

He stopped by the hallway and listened. “-and I’m not sure if I killed them. They might be on their way right now. Maybe she’ll pick the lock, if what you said was true. If they pick our locks we should have a pretty easy time beating them-”

Richie felt a rush in his head, a mysterious breeze flowing through him, leaving him chilled to the bone. Then he heard it.

_ I do pick locks. Just not the sort that you have in _mind_. _

Panicking, Richie rushed into the kitchen, where Hopper and Nancy sat at the table, each nursing a mug of coffee. They both jumped in surprise. “I just heard something. I swear I just heard something. A woman just said, ‘I pick locks, just not the ones you’re thinking about,’ or something. I think they’re coming!”

Hopper stood, alert. “Wait in the living room.” He pushed past Richie and stormed to the front window, with Nancy on his tail. Richie remained in the kitchen, unmoving, and scared out of his mind.

He shook himself out of his stupor and hurried over to the bathroom. He pressed his ear against the door and heard retching. He knocked, hard. “Will, I dunno what’s going on with you, but you better get ready to run. I think we’re gonna have to go soon.”

He heard a weak, “Got it,” through the door, and he rushed to the living room, where the kids were all awake and in a relative state of unrest, whispering furiously. He turned to Beverly, who held his arm tightly. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and suddenly all the voices disappeared, and Beverly’s weight vanished.

He opened his eyes. Where they had all been moments before was nothing. He stood, alone in the Byers’ living room.

“Guh-Guys?” he asked, voice unnaturally high. “Where’d y’all go?” He walked around to the bedrooms. Nothing. The kitchen was also deserted when he passed it. The bathroom door stood ajar and Will was nowhere to be seen.

He stumbled back to the living room and up to the windows. He looked outside and saw nothing.

And not nothing unnatural. There was literally nothing. He found himself staring at a giant black canvas that went on as far as the eye could see. _ Alright, I guess I’ll stay inside. _

Right as he made that thought, he heard something coming from the bedrooms. Richie turned, breathing quickly. He heard the sound of someone rising from their bed and walking towards the door. He had no idea who was walking, but he knew he did not want to see; there was this intuition. The regular sound of bare feet padding against the floor reached his ears, and, without much thought, Richie yanked open the front door and rushed outside.

Except now outside was not black, but a cul-de-sac. The exact cul-de-sac that the Wheelers lived in but with one major difference: at the end of the street, where it should have opened up to a cross street, there stood a house, its back door exposed. The sky was an unnatural shade of violet, with streaks of blue clouds breaking the strange gradient.

Richie walked towards the house nervously. He knew it was a trap, whatever that house was, but he had no other choice. He heard something fall inside the Byers house and moved a tad bit more quickly.

He walked in the house after crossing the long cul-de-sac, turning around every other second, but seeing nothing and nobody following him. He did not feel any less on edge, though. He noticed this house was indeed the Wheeler house, which meant that if he walked out the front of it, he would be in an endless loop of cul-de-sacs. He walked to the basement, where he remembered he had seen one of the bodies.

It was unnaturally dark in the basement, and Richie found himself tripping on the unfamiliar staircase. He felt along the walls with his hands and found what felt like a light switch. He flicked it, but no light turned on. He moved forward, keeping his hand on the wall, and felt another switch right beside the last. He flicked that one. Nothing. He moved forward again and found another switch, but didn’t stop. He kept walking with his hand against the wall, feeling switch after switch after switch. And then he heard the sound of a light switch flicking. He paused. He hadn’t flipped one when the sound came.

He kept his breathing as quiet as possible as he heard it again, and again, flick after flick after flick. He moved forward as quietly as he could, trying to get away from whatever monstrosity stood behind him, flicking light switches. And then the lights came on.

Richie froze, his back turned to whatever it was that was behind him. Dreading whatever he was about to see, he turned slowly, and came face-to-face with a woman wearing a hat.

She smiled widely. “Hello, Richie Tozier. Would you care to join me for some grub?”

* * *

Beverly watched, utterly bewildered, as Richie, El, and Nancy began acting so strangely.

She was holding onto Richie’s arm when he suddenly pulled away, looked around with fear written clearly on his smooth face, said, “Guh-Guys? Where’d y’all go?” and began walking towards the front door.

“Hopper!” She cried, hoping the policeman would intercept Richie, but it was too late. He, El, and Nancy, all in trance-like states, and all people with the Shine, rushed out the front door that they had somehow opened and into the night.

Hopper swore loudly and chased after them, the other kids and teens hot on his heels. When they entered the woods, they found the three completely gone, nowhere to be seen. They stood in a huddled mass, most of them dressed inadequately for the current temperature, looking around with keen eyes.

Beverly felt herself almost sob with fear. Where the hell did Richie Tozier go, and what happened to him? She glanced at the moon, which stood directly overhead. Had she any knowledge in astronomy, she would have identified a waning gibbous, which was always in that position at around three in the morning. But she deduced that it was midnight, a decently-close assumption.

They could not afford to wait until morning to search for them. They would freeze. Hopper turned to the huddle and said, “Okay, here’s the plan: We’re gonna go back in, grab some warm layers, and come back out. Then we’re gonna go search the woods, alright? Joyce, you’re with me. Henderson, Sinclair: you’re with Harrington. You go that way. And Marsh and Little Byers: you’re with Big Byers. You go that way. Alright, everyone got that? Let’s go.”

They hurried back towards the house, and suddenly Beverly tripped over something at the height of her ankle. She cried out as she fell, drawing the attention of all those around her.

Hopper turned and aimed his shotgun, hoping to find something, but found nothing. Jonathan held his ax up, ready to swing, while Steve kept a loose grip on his bat while he hopped nimbly on his feet.

Will helped Beverly up, who could not find anything at the height of what she had tripped over, and they continued. They made it to the house and had begun putting on extra layers when the front door slammed shut, and a slim woman wearing a dirty police uniform turned on the lights.

* * *

Richie stared at the woman, his mouth dry. He had three options: fight, flight, or die. He certainly didn’t like the third, and he had no idea how he’d fare in a fight, so the logical option seemed to run.

But he had no idea how fast she was. What if she could run faster than any human alive? With the psychedelic dreams she had just put into his mind, he could rule nothing out. So it was option four: talk.

“Um, sure. I mean, no, I don’t mind.” She smiled even more widely and motioned towards the table in the middle of the basement, where four chairs were set.

“We will have some more guests joining us. I hope you don’t mind.” She waved her arm around and Nancy and El suddenly appeared in two of the seats, looking lost. “Please, join us.” Richie grimaced when the girls shot him worried looks. He sat in the remaining seat. _ Stall. Talk. Or let them talk. _

“Who are you? And where is my brother?” Nancy demanded.

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “My friends call me ‘Rose the Hat,’ for I wear a hat. Fitting, is it not? Fitting, like a hat. As for your brother…I have yet the pleasure of meeting him. He slipped from my fingers just that last moment, but no matter. He and his friend have returned to this town and coming after me, so I must make this quick.

“I would like for you to know that my friend, Silent Sarey, is currently in that shack you have called a home for a week. She is my distraction. She wants to avenge her lover, Snakebite Andi, whom you murdered. I must applaud you for your tactics; they are quite exquisite. I witnessed in my mind the wonderful death you provided her.”

“Okay, cut the bullshit,” said Richie, sounding calmer than he felt. “Why did you have us all come here? What are you gonna do?”

Rose suddenly had a cup of tea in her hand. Where had she gotten that? She sipped it delicately. “I will be frank; you deserve as much. I’m rather hungry, and you three all have the Shine. The only ones in this town, as far as I’m concerned. I will torture you and cause you pain and harvest your Steam. Who would like to begin?”

“We would.” A new voice, one that sounded exactly like Richie’s, came from the stairs leading out of the basement. Richie turned to see a dingy-looking teen he had never seen before in his life, and a malnourished, exhausted, and angry Mike Wheeler.

* * *

  
  


Beverly stared at the woman, her heartbeat racing. She was clearly one of the True Knot. She had a bullet wound in her forehead that oozed pus, for goodness’ sake. Hopper leveled his shotgun at her.

“Sarey, was it? I thought I killed you. You should've stayed dead. Would’ve saved you a lot of trouble,” said Hopper grimly.

She laughed quietly. “Lou are lo lupid,” she gurgled.

“You’re right, I was so stupid. But now, you’re here. You’re unarmed and you’re starving. And where’s that other guy?” said Hopper. Beverly had no clue what he had just said, but deduced that it probably had to do with his trip to New York.

“He’s dead. Lou killed him. Lot like uz,” she said sadly. “And lou killed my gullflend. I loved huh, and lou killed huh.”

Beverly never thought it possible, but she actually felt sad for this tiny woman standing before her. She may have eaten children, like It, but she had friends and she had a life. She loved and she lost. She was almost human. But then Beverly’s resolve hardened. “Almost” was the key word. This world had no place for these sorts of people.

Hopper seemed unmoved. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry. They tried to eat my friends, who tried to save themselves. They both tried to kill each other, and one of them won. It’s the way the world works, girly. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s not personal. Byers, Harrington...let’s do this.

Beverly turned away as Hopper, Steve, and Jonathan rushed at Sarey, who did not even attempt to move. Hopper shot her in the chest, blasting her back, and Steve smashed her head with his bat, tearing apart her face and breaking through her skull. They dragged her outside into the freezing night air, and Jonathan handed the ax to a pale Hopper, who whispered, softly, “Alright, I am sorry,” and began chopping away. Like a pendulum. Back and forth. Up and down. Flesh and bone, spine and sinew. When Silent Sarey finally faded away into mist, she had a smile on the face plastered on that awful, severed head.

* * *

“Mike!” El cried blissfully, jumping out of her seat. But one subtle motion from him and she sat back down, remembering the situation that they were in. Nancy stared at him, mouth agape in an unflattering way, as if she could not believe he stood right there, right before her.

“You killed him,” Mike spat, those exhausted, black-rimmed eyes focused on Rose. “He didn’t do anything to you and you killed him. And you don’t even care. Well, now we’re gonna kill you.”

Rose grinned. “A loyal friend. I admire that, Mike Wheeler. And please, be my guest. I was there when Otto von Bismarck made his ‘Blood and Iron’ speech. I was but a little girl, a guest in the chamber. If you make this as exciting as that, I will not take your Steam; I will simply kill you. It will be my gift.

“Let us begin.”

She rose from the table and stood, unmoving. Mike met eyes with Dan and nodded. They had no idea if they could even kill her, but they had to try. He hoped Dan’s training had some use.

Mike imagined a demogorgon, the one that had terrorized him less than a year before, and suddenly one appeared right beside him. He saw El flinch and he felt some remorse, but now was not the time for sentimentality. It ran toward Rose, who waved her hand and turned it into a skinless bear, which roared and reared in pain. Mike grimaced.

And suddenly the basement disappeared, and they were in Mirkwood in the middle of the night, standing in a circle. He assumed Dan did that. The cold immediately made itself known, its sharp, biting hands grasping at his arms, which erupted in goosebumps. “Shockflesh,” Bill had called it.

Nancy and Richie and El stood to the side, shivering and completely bewildered. The molting trees stood like grinning spectres in the pearlescent moonlight, silent witnesses to that terrible night. Were they in the real world yet, and not another psychedelia Rose had produced? He found himself unable to produce anything with his mind, so he supposed that Dan had somehow canceled the illusion. But how had they entered it in the first place? He really had no clue.

Rose rushed toward him with superhuman speed, and suddenly they were all in a dark, circular room, lit by invisible sources of light that bathed them all in a dull, blue glow. Around them were ten doors and two glass exhibits. Both had a humanoid figure standing behind the glass, but when Mike looked more closely he saw they were one color, with no facial features to be found anywhere. They had no genitals or any distinct gender. They were just people made of clay, as they were before Prometheus breathed.

One of the figures walked on a thin, floating strip of ground made of the same clay, walking purposefully but always remaining in the same spot, while the other walked in a circle, occasionally defying gravity and walking upside down. Mike found himself entranced, and by the curious reactions of the other members of the group, they were too.

Richie walked up to Rose, who watched him approach. He suddenly had an ax in his hand, and he swung. It passed through her completely, and the illusion was destroyed.

They found themselves back in the forest again, this time near Castle Byers. Dan rushed Rose, who met him in the middle, their collision knocking them both back, despite their efforts to grab onto the other.

Nancy ran up to Mike and held out the parabellum, fully loaded. He took it numbly, feeling its weight, and pulled back the hammer. Dan flew past him and collapsed in a pile of leaves.

He made it disappear in the minds of those around him, and held it at his side, as he would with his arms normally. Rose walked towards him, slowly. His mind was on autopilot, not thinking for a moment what he had in mind, or what he was about to do. He just did.

“I must say: I really enjoyed our little game, Mike Wheeler. I see the gun in your hand. Go ahead. Become the adult you always wanted to be. Lose everything for that boy. Let go. _ Me ne frego.” _

Mike’s arms shook as he held the gun up. Did he really want to kill Rose? Of course he did. But he knew what she had just said had an inkling of truth in it. Looking into her mockingly bright, blue eyes and pulling the trigger...he knew if he did that he would lose his innocence, his final chance at having a normal childhood, and perhaps a normal life, in one fell swoop. Once he walked past the veil he would never be able to walk back. He supposed that only he of all the children gathered together in the woods this bloody night understood the significance of the act Rose had thrust upon him.

But who was he to say he deserved a nice, pleasant life? Bill Denbrough, that quiet, stuttering boy with the goofball grin, who had become a good friend, would be thirteen for all of eternity. He deserved so much more than Mike ever did. He held up the Luger and hardened his gaze. Rose’s eyes widened.

“This is for Bill.”

_ Bam! _ Half of her jaw came off when the bullet made impact. Mike cocked it back again. _ Bam! Click. Bam! Click. Bam! _He emptied all eight of the chambers and stood there, panting. Rose collapsed onto the ground, head completely blasted apart. Mike slowly stumbled up to the body, splattered in blood, and shivered as he felt an unpleasant breeze blow through him; and Rose the Hat disappeared into a fine mist. He dropped the gun where she had once lain. He felt as if he had no more strength left in his body.

El and Nancy rushed towards him, and he didn’t stop them this time. He gave the tearful El a rather sloppy kiss (where had she learned to do that?) before Nancy pushed her away and enveloped him in a big hug. He could hear her sobs and felt them wrack her body and felt her hot tears against his hair. “Aw, Nancy,” he said tiredly against her shoulder, hugging her back. She held him even more tightly. She pulled back after a moment, and looked at his face, at those dark rings under his brown eyes that were the same shade as hers, at his drooping eyelids.

“Oh, Mike, I wuh-was s-so worried. Guh-God, I’m juh-just glad y-you’re sa-”

“Wait, where’s Bill?” Richie asked, sounding horrified. He finally understood.

Mike forced himself to speak. He felt so drained. Weary. Existential. _ Old_. “I’m sorry,” Mike said softly, before he collapsed in Nancy’s arms.


	9. Epilogue: Time

“We didn't realize we were making memories; we just knew we were having fun.”

\- Winnie the Pooh

* * *

They held Bill’s funeral in Derry. The Denbrough family paid to have the body preserved and flown over the country. The school cancelled the trip due to “the unfortunate tragedy,” and Beverly and Richie found themselves barely able to stomach a goodbye to all the friends that they had made in Hawkins.

It was a quiet affair, the funeral. All six remaining Losers attended, of course, though more for themselves than for Bill. They all needed people to lean on.

Richie found it was never quite the same without Big Bill. They couldn’t play their games together anymore without feeling awful, even after the mourning phase. They couldn’t deal with having only six, and soon enough they began to drift apart. They would never gather together again like they had for the building of the clubhouse or the defeat of It for the rest of their lives.

Beverly moved first. Then Ben. Then Stan and Eddie, and then the only two Losers left in Derry were Mike and Richie, until Richie moved. He never found out what became of Mike, to be quite honest. Then again, he never found out what had become of the rest of his friends, either.

He knew he loved them all dearly, and he missed them all so much. He never had any friends later on like the ones he had when he was twelve. But he forgot, slowly but surely, and did not flinch at all when he picked up the newspaper in his Los Angeles home and read the headline _Beverly Rogan Murdered by Abusive Husband_.

And now they were five, and Mike Hanlon gave up his dreams of seeing his friends again and moved out of Derry himself, and twenty-seven years after the death of Georgie Denbrough, when It awoke from Its slumber, it was business as usual.

* * *

_ He wakes again to the same dream about his youth, and ponders why they always trouble him as much as they do. But he never complains. It is good, he thinks, to look back fondly, even if he has nothing to look back upon. But it is all part of the process known as “growing old,” he supposes. _

_ Sometimes he thinks about who he had grown up with, and is dismayed to remember than he cannot recall. That there should be an enormous blank over what he considers his most important years, especially since he feels a deep-seated fondness for the time, feels like a cardinal sin that he cannot rid himself of. _

_ But he is glad for these feelings of fondness, no matter how bittersweet, for he knows he could never appreciate his forgotten childhood had he remembered everything, and would therefore no longer understand that childhood is precious because it is finite, just as life is. And so he shrugs and carries on, wistful and bitter, but accepting all the same. _

_ And what must walk forward cannot walk back. Life is a line that we all walk on for a brief moment, and nothing more. So it is useless to moan about how much happier he was as a kid, because he can never go back to being one. Whether life is a wheel, as Bill Denbrough was predestined to think, or a singular line, as Richie Tozier believes, there exists a sad but undeniable truth that the brain cannot capture it all. _

_ Who was Bill Denbrough? _

_ Richie wonders for a moment, feeling a brief flare of recognition, and perhaps some admiration, before it fades away. He shrugs and writes another joke. _


End file.
